


If We Were Young Again

by billyspilgrimage



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Byleth learns feelings, Canon-Typical Violence, Edelgard von Hresvelg Needs a Hug, F/F, Female My Unit | Byleth, For Edelgard sympathizers, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, POV Alternating, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Silver Snow Route if Byleth couldn't kill Edelgard, Slow Burn, Yearning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:54:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29102097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billyspilgrimage/pseuds/billyspilgrimage
Summary: The Emperor lowered her head, offering her neck up to the executioner. The time had come. The fate of the war rested on Byleth’s shoulders. In a desperate attempt at doing what everyone told her was the only choice, she called on the Ashen Demon for one last time.But she couldn't do it.Byleth can't bring herself to kill Edelgard in the assault on Enbarr, and Byleth heals from her injuries while Edelgard is taken prisoner. Though under commands to get information from her, Byleth begins to understand Edelgard more and more and also understand her feelings for her.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring, Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary, Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 22
Kudos: 144
Collections: clouds wlw favs





	1. Chapter 1

For what felt like days, Byleth swept through the Imperial Capital with the Black Eagles and the Church of Seiros at her back. The closer she got to the palace at Enbarr’s center, the more the streets seemed to blend together in a hazy current that carried the group around corners and through wave after wave of Imperial soldiers threatening to stop them in their tracks. And yet without fail, each one seemed to fall to Byleth’s blade, one after the other in quick succession as the only concrete thing in the Ashen Demon’s vision was the face of the Adrestian Emperor.

Edelgard von Hresvelg.

Her student. Her friend. Her flame.

Byleth could feel the eyes on her back as she led the group through the antechambers and halls of the palace, searching for the throne room. The Ashen Demon, daughter of Jeralt the Blade Breaker, had finally appeared. When they’d all met her five years ago, they’d been shocked to hear of Byleth’s history as a mercenary, and almost laughed at the thought of the gentle, tea-loving professor murdering quarries without hesitation. They’d thought it was a joke.

But now, faced with the certainty that she had to kill _her_ , Byleth had fallen back on old habits, reverting into the person that took no pleasure in what she did. She forced herself to withdraw to that dark room in the back of her head, watching herself act but not in control of it. It was the only way she could live with herself.

The thought occurred to Byleth, as she cut another guard down without a second’s hesitation, of what she might do after today. Would she explain herself to her friends, talk to the people who had become the closest thing to family she had? Or would she disappear into the night, never to be seen again after Rhea was freed? She wasn’t sure yet, but she was inclined to think it might be the latter. To face them again, after today, was a challenge she couldn’t bear to think of.

A crew of guards stood on the threshold of a pair of tall, crimson double doors with an image of a two headed eagle emblazoned on the peak. Byleth assumed that this was the entrance to the throne room. Aided by Caspar, the Professor tore through their ranks in seconds. If any of them had landed a blow on her, she was too focused on her objective to realize it.

With a heave, they thrust open the doors to reveal a huge hall with extravagant stained glass windows dotting one side. Sunlight streamed through them in muted colors of the rainbow, casting a cold, raised dais in perverse tones of the sky, of the sun, and of love.

Seated atop, silhouetted against bright glass images of wars long past, was their target. The Emperor of Adrestia.

The sight of her nearly brought Byleth to her knees. After all these years of fighting and of bloodshed, here she was, daring to stand up and stop them from ending this war. Even when backed into a corner and outnumbered, Edelgard still held herself with all the grace and strength of an entire army. If it had been a different day, a different place, Byleth might’ve smiled. She was still the Edelgard she knew all those years ago. But now, Byleth had no words. None that felt right to say, at least. 

She wanted to tell her to stop this, to give up, to come home, but Byleth knew her too well for that. That’s what drew her to pick the Black Eagles in the first place: the drive and confidence that Edelgard emanated like a sunrise over a blanket of snow.

The flames licked up Byleth’s chest at the memories resurfacing, despite her will. The day she saved Edelgard from the bandits in Remire Village, throwing her life on the line for her without a second thought. The day she celebrated her victory with the Black Eagles after the Battle of Eagle and Lion. The ball, and Edelgard’s laughs at the Goddess Tower. The bright, warm memories fought to take control of Byleth’s muscles, to keep her from advancing, and it took every effort she had left in her to push them down further and further, to let the Ashen Demon take control at least until this battle was over.

The emotions could wait, at least another few minutes. She hoped they could at least.

And they did, as her sword found its target in each of the soldiers that crossed her path in an attempt to keep her from reaching the throne. Before she knew it, she was standing mere feet away from her. _Her_.

As the haze lifted, dulling the sounds of battle in the hall and blurring the fights that her allies were tied in, all Byleth could see was that Edelgard looked tired. Exhausted, fighting with every ounce of strength she had as the floor collapsed underneath her.

Before it even started, it was over. With one swipe, Byleth managed to disarm the Emperor and strike her down to her knees. Something in the back of her mind told her that this was all too easy, that the Edelgard she knew was more difficult to defeat than this. She didn’t realize it until it was over, but Byleth had fully expected to die on this stage at the hands of the woman who she spent the best year of her life with. The woman who taught her happiness, despite everything.

A voice coming from the woman in front of her brought Byleth’s consciousness slamming back to Earth as she realized what was happening, exactly what she was about to do. She had to kill Edelgard.

“It looks as though...my path will end here.” Her eyes, sparkling amethyst that danced like moonlight on the sea, fell on Byleth. “My teacher, claim your victory.”

_This isn’t right. Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong._

Every fiber of Byleth’s being screamed at her, every atom of her brain flashing images of Edelgard’s smile, her bright pink blush, her embarrassed giggle. Byleth knew what she had to do, but despite her best efforts, not a single muscle would move at her command.

“Strike me down, you must! Even now, across this land, people are killing each other. If you do not act now, this conflict will go forever.”

Byleth knew this, she knew all of this. That was the reason she had marched through Enbarr with the sole objective of doing the exact thing that Edelgard was begging her to do. All of this, Byleth was more aware of than anyone. And if that was true, why was she hesitating? Why did casting Heal on the wounded woman in front of her seem like the only right choice in the world? Yet, the thought just made her more angry, more frustrated that she couldn’t bring herself to do the thing that she needed to do.

“Your path lies across my grave. It is time for you to find the courage to walk it.”

_No._

“If I must fall...let it be by your hand.”

No. No. No.

The Emperor lowered her head, offering her neck up to the executioner. The time had come. The fate of the war rested on Byleth’s shoulders. In a desperate attempt at doing what everyone told her was the only choice, she called on the Ashen Demon for one last time.

She stepped forward.

One.

Two.

Three.

She felt her arms raise the Sword of the Creator, felt her fingers tighten around the handle.

“I wanted...to walk with you.”

In an instant, Byleth watched as the blade barreled down towards Edelgard’s neck, but seemed to hit an invisible barrier only inches away.

_What?_

Panic rose up in the Professor’s chest, first fear at the prospect of being unable to fulfill her duty, then anger at herself for not being strong enough to do what needed to be done. Then, lastly, as the drone of battle around her fell quiet with the Black Eagles’ victory, gratitude.

Edelgard’s head rose, her platinum hair pushing back against the blade as she looked at Byleth, eyes piercing into the darkest regions of her mind that she retreated to when the Ashen Demon took over. At that moment, Edelgard knew every fear, every anger, and every love that had ever carried themselves on the neurons of Byleth’s brain, and she knew exactly what was happening.

Her voice, soft, comforting, reached out to her in the darkness.

“You can’t do it, can you?”

Without a word, Byleth shook her head, the Sword of the Creator dropping from her grasp and clattering on the floor, sending echoes throughout the now silent throne room filled with her allies’ stares and expectations. She fell to her knees, mirroring the Emperor in front of her who watched Byleth’s every movement with sorrowful, tired eyes.

“Now...we’re both doomed.”

That’s all it took to kill the Ashen Demon. Every ounce of detachedness that remained in Byleth’s heart had sloughed off with the salty tears that now fell from her eyes, splashing onto the smooth stone of the dais for all to see. Only the second time in her life that she’d cried, the other being watching her own father die. Yet this time was different. It wasn’t the pain of loss that drove her to tears, it was the cocktail of emotions that swirled through her still heart. Shame. Fear. Joy. They all found a place in her, and tears seemed to be the only outlet that her bloodied, bruised body could find.

* * *

The next few hours were a blur. The Black Eagles and the Church of Seiros took the wounded Edelgard prisoner, shackling her hands and feet before taking her away to a place that Byleth had never heard of, with the only reassurance being Seteth’s reasoning that they still needed to know where Rhea was being hidden. The final holdouts of the Imperial Army surrendered after being informed that the Emperor had fallen, ushered under supervision by the Knights of Seiros to the cells underneath the Palace. The rest of the invading force began to shift their camp to the Imperial Palace, aided by reinforcements who began working on returning the city to its peaceful state.

Byleth had been ushered around the Palace by her allies, shifting rooms and listening absent-mindedly to people trying to ask her questions, but not truly hearing them through the muddled awareness she had.

Eventually, she found her mind returning to her as she lay on a white cot in a long hall, almost empty despite the number of beds that stood in it. Her fingers ached and cracked as she awoke, flexing them and breaking open fresh rounds around her knuckles. Next to her sat a tall, brunette woman, jolted to awareness by Byleth’s sudden movements and immediately meeting her eyes. Dorothea. 

Her eyes were watery, cheeks wet, but a smile spread across her face as she spoke. “Professor! You’re awake! How are you feeling? Are you alright?”

Byleth attempted to speak, but her throat seemed too dry to be able to form any words of substance as her voice cracked.

“Oh right! Water, sorry. You must be parched” Dorothea reached over to a small table by the side of Byleth’s bed, wrapping her hand around a glass of water and passing it to the Professor.

Taking it, Byleth gulped down the entire glass, still feeling deeply unsatisfied but able to croak out a few words. “How long have I been asleep?”

The songstress raised a finger to her chin, contemplating for a moment before responding, “About nine hours. There were more of us here earlier, but it started to get late, so we started shifts.”

Sure enough, as Byleth looked across the room to the window, bright stars illuminated the night sky like tiny pin holes through a sheet of paper. It must be the middle of the night by now. That familiar guilt she felt in the throne room returned to her, and the urge to run away into the forest to return to her life as a mercenary thrust itself back into her mind.

Byleth cleared her throat, turning back to Dorothea. “I appreciate that, but you don’t need to look over me. I’m fine.” At that, Byleth reached down to pull back the blanket that covered her legs, totally preparing to walk away from the unnecessary cot and go figure out what was going on, until Dorothea’s hands and concerned look stopped her.

“Professor...I know you want to get up, but Linhardt said you need to rest. You pushed yourself a little hard today.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...magic can only do so much, Professor. I’ll go get Linhardt, he can explain it a bit better.” Dorothea stood up from the chair to leave, turned around after a moment to get one last word in. “And...I wanted to tell you, I think you made the right choice today. I know not everyone agrees, but I’ve got your back.”

And with one reassuring smile, Dorothea stepped out of the infirmary and left Byleth to her thoughts.

Memories of the day swirled around Byleth’s head, her entire world collapsing around the image of Edelgard looking at her, speaking those words…

_“You can’t do it, can you?”_

Over and over, it ran through her head. Incessant. Her brain wouldn’t allow her to forget it, even if she wanted to. It was then that Byleth realized that she didn’t regret her decision, or more so, her body’s decision. She wasn’t quite sure if that was the right word, but something stopped her, despite all thought to the contrary. Byleth was thankful for whatever that thing was, despite the guilt and fear that lay upon her. The fear that Edelgard and the rest of them were right, that the war will go on forever now. And it was all Byleth’s fault. All because she couldn’t swing a sword.

She shook her head, trying to bring herself back to the material world and realizing the bandages that had been placed all over her body. Taking all of it in at once, Byleth began to notice the wrappings around her chest, the gauze strapped to her arms, and the thick dressings that covered every inch of both of her legs. Inspecting herself, she began to survey the damage she’d received in the battle to take down Edelgard that had gone unnoticed in the fight. Byleth didn’t spend another second considering why she hadn’t cared to take so many hits.

Most of the wounds were lacerations, tears through her flesh that were mostly superficial and sealed with basic white magic and stitches. She’d had enough of those in her life that they didn’t phase her much anymore. But when she made it to her legs, something peeking out from under the white bandages caught her eyes.

At first, Byleth thought they were burns, yellow and swollen around the far edges. But she knew burns, and the tendrils of dark, violet wisps that flickered along her veins at the edges of the wounds told her that these were caused by something far more serious than a stray fireball.

Byleth looked up from her survey to see Linhardt striding into the room, long green hair tied back into a loose ponytail and bishop’s robes swaying about him. Caspar was right on the tail of the man and carrying a pair of long wooden crutches by his side while Dorothea trailed behind both of them. Linhardt saw her, his eyes brightening at the sight of her awake and alert, only to be shoved aside by Caspar bolting into the room and running straight to her bedside.

“Professor! You’re okay!” The blue-haired man almost launched himself onto her bed, only pulling back at the last minute and realizing what he was about to do.

Linhardt arrived by his side, nodding to the man. “I’m proud of your restraint, Caspar. Please, don’t jump on the Professor right now.”

“Ohhh I’m sorry Professor! You know how I get so excited I can’t control myself sometimes, but hey, I’m getting better!”

Byleth nodded at Caspar in acknowledgement, then looked to Dorothea and Linhardt expectantly, not forgetting the exchange from earlier.

Linhardt spoke first, seemingly wanting to get straight to the point and not beat around the bush, something that Byleth had come to appreciate greatly in the many years that she’d known the man. “Professor...during the assault on the Palace, you were struck with a type of dark magic that was unfamiliar to me, as well as the rest of our healers. It occurred just outside the Imperial Palace, where we defeated Hubert.” Linhardt’s tone was hard and calculating as he continued. “A trap seemed to erupt from the ground, with your legs taking the brunt of the impact. And…”

He hesitated.

“...despite our calls of concern, it did not seem to phase you. As you know, you continued through the fight as though nothing had happened, causing further damage to the tissues in your leg. After it was all over, we found you and brought you here, where I realized just how bad your wound was. It coursed through your veins, and despite all expectations, you managed to survive the encounter. I can only assume that your crest prevented the damage from flowing throughout the rest of your body.”

As the bishop finished, the room fell into an eerie silence, where the only sound echoing through the hall was the soft beat of three hearts in tandem. Byleth tried her best to make sense of everything that was happening before her, but it fell through the air faster than she could take hold of it, spiraling past as she only got bits and pieces.

“So...what does that mean?”

For the first time since coming back to her bedside, Dorothea spoke up from beside Linhardt in an attempt to dumb it all down. “Professor...he means you hurt your legs. Badly.”

Linhardt looked to her, then back to Byleth, “Yes. Dorothea’s right. I’m sure you know this Professor, but healing magic only invigorates the body’s natural processes by utilizing the patient’s energy stores. I can only do so much.”

Byleth still didn’t quite understand, but she felt that she was on the cusp of it. “So, what then? I can’t walk anymore?”

Linhardt looked like he was about to laugh. “Oh no Professor! Nothing like that. However, you will need to rest more than you’re used to. I would ask you to stay in bed until you’re healed fully, but I know that you would disobey my orders. There are also your...responsibilities that you must tend to. So I asked Caspar to bring these along for you, if you must get out of bed.” Caspar raised the two crutches, which Byleth was now realizing were for her this whole time. “I don’t know why you would, but Caspar thought it was a good compromise.”

The boy grinned ear to ear, “You’re welcome Professor!”

The thought of having to use crutches to get around sounded awfully cumbersome, but she was grateful nonetheless for the thought. This was all a bit much. So much had happened in such a short amount of time that things were becoming even more jumbled than they were to begin with. Until Byleth seemed to remember exactly where she was.

She sat bolt upright in her bed, looking frantically between the three in front of her, “Wait, where’s Edelgard?!”

At the mention of the now dethroned Adrestian Emperor, Byleth’s former students flinched, looking between each other at the touchy subject.

Dorothea spoke up first, broaching the topic with all the poise that she could muster in times like these, “Professor...Edelgard is in a cell in the watchtower. They’re currently deciding what to do with her.”

Byleth slumped back again, stunned into silence. In truth, part of her didn’t want to accept that she was still alive, as much as she hated herself for hoping for such things. It was dreadful, being constantly at war with your own feelings, and ever since the day’s events, Byleth felt them coming to her more and more readily. She had a feeling it had something to do with the cracking of her facade in the throne room.

Dorothea continued. “The Church of Seiros wants her...taken care of. They see her as a heretic. Ferdinand, despite his usual incompetence, has taken charge as the de facto prime minister of Adrestia and is arguing to keep her alive with Petra and Brigid backing him. They’ve been in the War Room for hours.”

Before Byleth could ask one of the many burning questions on her mind, Linhardt interrupted her. “We have your back Professor, and we promise nothing will happen to Edelgard. You need your rest though, Manuela or I will stop by in the morning to perform some more healing on you.” He leaned his head back, trying and failing to contain a deep yawn. “Anyway...let’s get some shut eye. Doctor’s orders Professor.”

Within a moment, the door was sealed once again and Byleth was left alone with only the stars to keep her company. She mulled over her options, feeling as though she had an understanding of her injuries as Linhardt explained them to her. She could try to sleep, as difficult as that may be since she just finished sleeping nine hours. Or, she could explore the castle and get her bearings. As she considered this, the memory of Dorothea saying that Edelgard was being kept in the watchtower emerged within her, quickly followed by the painful possibility of having gone through all this just for the Church of Seiros to put Edelgard to death without a second word from Byleth.

Understanding what she had to do, Byleth swung her feet around the bed, gently placing them onto the ground and testing them. She winced as she placed her weight onto her feet, clenching her jaw in pain as burning shot up her legs and a wet warmth began to soak into the bandages that wrapped around her.

_If that’s what it takes, that’s what it takes._

Tensing her shoulders in sharp white pain, Byleth grabbed the crutches by her bedside and headed towards the door with thoughts of a princess locked away in a tower.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth begins to see the world changing after Edelgard is defeated, and takes on a new role under the supervision of the Church and the Black Eagles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure whether to keep this as one chapter or two, so I hope two was the right choice! ENJOY
> 
> Also, this chapter has some suicidal ideation, just as a warning.

Byleth had never never paid flowers much attention. She never had reason to. They were simply flashes of paint against the countryside in spring and summer, disappearing beneath the earth until winter’s frost passed. It wasn’t until she became a professor at Garreg Mach that she realized that her indifference was a result of her own inclinations, not the ornamentals’ deficiencies. Dedue taught her that. He taught her how to take gentle tools to the soil, to plant seeds and coax them to life and beauty. It took work, and she learned that those vibrant fields of honey and ice and blood were the products of someone’s love. In her short time at the monastery, Byleth came to know that work better than anyone, even Dedue, whose disappointed face was still fresh in her memory. She cultivated herbs, roots, and fruit, but her favorites were the carnations that she would stumble across every now and then. She loved the variance of them, their uncanny skill to be colored by forces unknown to her, sometimes blue, yellow, pink, and often a dark, brilliant crimson.

As Byleth dragged her body through the Imperial Palace in Enbarr, crutches creaking under her weight as she shifted through hallways and turrets in the candlelight, she felt compelled to ask herself why she was doing all of this. Why bother climbing endless staircases in the wee hours of the morning, just to visit the holding cell of someone who led an army against the Church of Seiros? Why subject her wounded body to these trials when Linhardt told her to rest? Was it worth it?

In truth, Byleth wasn’t sure. She _was_ sure that she wanted answers to why Edelgard had thrown herself at Byleth’s mercy, begging for the blade. She knew Edelgard wanted to see the Church destroyed, so why give up so easily? Byleth felt that there had to be something else going on, something that the now dethroned Emperor knew that the rest of them didn’t, and if they executed her before she could find out what that was, then they’d all be worse off for it.

At least, that’s what Byleth kept telling herself. That her decision to keep Edelgard alive was a strategic one, and that her trek across the Palace was for the war’s sake, not her own attempt at reconciling the guilt of not being able to make the final blow, or the secret joy in her inability. These thoughts she hid inside herself, deep enough so that she only felt echoes of them. And as dark blood began to soak through the bandages on her leg, the searing pain of each step began to feel just and righteous: the payment for not fulfilling her duty.

Finally, after trudging up a winding staircase in a far corner of the Palace, warm candlelight that flickered across stone walls began to crest Byleth’s vision. In one last heave, she pulled herself onto a small landing illuminated by braziers and found herself face to face with a thickly armored soldier.

With quick, trained eyes, Byleth took in the small room’s details in an instant. Thick walls of cobblestone curved around in a semicircle to meet a monstrous, sealed steel door with an intricate padlock secured beneath the handle.

_Edelgard’s cell._

Directly in front of the door, standing at full attention and watching Byleth ascend the staircase, was a blonde knight, long hair freshly shorn and tied back behind her head. It’d been years since Byleth had seen the woman up close, but she knew those eyes and that ambitious smile, and the warm yet defensive in the way she held herself.

Ingrid Galatea looked over the Professor, analyzing her grievous wounds in concern. “Professor...you shouldn’t be out of bed. It’s late.”

Byleth regained her composure, tightening her grip on her crutches as she met Ingrid’s disquieted eyes. “I could say the same to you.” Ingrid chuckled in acknowledgement. As she spoke, Byleth’s attention began to drift away towards the door across the room from her, unable to keep her imagination from conjuring pictures of tortuous devices that were undoubtedly being considered by certain members of the Resistance, designed to pierce and pry away Edelgard’s barriers.

Physical and mental.

The knight seemed to read her mind, tracing her gaze to the sealed room before stepping into Byleth’s line of sight to the door. “Professor. With all due respect, may I ask why you’re here? I don’t mean to sound accusatory, but I’m sure you can imagine how this looks.”

Right. Now Byleth had to make a decision. To tell the truth of her anxieties and frustration, or to lie. To keep herself safe. Minimize suspicion. 

The choice was obvious.

“I wanted to make sure security was tight, so that Edelgard cannot escape.” The tension in Ingrid’s face seemed to loosen as Byleth’s words began to cover her tracks. “She is much stronger than she appears, even without allies or weapons.”

Ingrid stepped aside, allowing Byleth to gaze over the steel door once again as she spoke assuringly, “Yes well, don’t worry. I was hand-selected by Lord Ferdinand and Master Seteth to guard the Lady. I can assure you that she will not escape under my watch.”

Byleth nodded in response, making careful note of the new politics emerging now that Edelgard had been dethroned. Alliances were rapidly disintegrating and reforming around prominent figures in the blink of an eye, new lords regaining and losing control of land over verbal deals and handshakes. It was shocking really, how quickly the tomes of history were being rewritten all while she had been ordered to bed. She remembered now her own title as leader of the Resistance Army, chief tactician and general, yet her voice had been left unheard in the turmoil of the day. Countless decisions made without her oversight that would undoubtedly affect the world for years, and maybe longer.

“Ingrid, do you mind if I stand guard here with you to make sure nothing happens without my knowing?”

Ingrid Galatea was the perfect picture of a knight, so Byleth had been told by many. She served under King Dimitri until his disappearance at Gronder Field, where he was rumored to have been killed by Imperial forces. After the Kingdom of Faerghus’ defeat, Ingrid and the other Blue Lions joined the Resistance Army and the effort to end the Empire’s war. However, ever since she met her, Ingrid’s motivations and alliances confused Byleth. Her loyalty to Dimitri conflicted with her dislike of the crest system that she reluctantly complied with. Having observed these things, Byleth agreed. Ingrid was a perfect knight, for better or for worse. In truth, she seemed split, not truly agreeing with Dimitri’s loathing of Edelgard and her virtues, and yet feeling compelled to follow him to the darkest ends of the Earth. Byleth supposed that this was the exact reason why she was chosen to guard Edelgard. To prevent assassins, as well as to prevent jailbreakers.

As Byleth laid her back against the stone wall, massaging her leg in an attempt to dull the pain, she chalked this up as a win. At the very least, Edelgard wasn’t going to be executed without her having a say. She pictured the Flame Emperor mirroring her movements through the iron door, five, ten, fifteen feet away. Still breathing, wounds admittedly much less severe than Byleth’s.

Silent. Back to the wall. 

Exhausted.

Alone.

* * *

Byleth shambled through the hallways of the Palace, her patient’s rags replaced by a long skirt that covered the fresh bandages on her legs but allowed relatively free movement and her right arm stuck in a sling under her coat. Linhardt had especially insisted on the sling, which Byleth hated, because she had torn his careful stitching with her adventure the night before.

She didn’t learn anything new during her time in the tower, nor did she stop a hushed execution, and Byleth questioned whether it was worth it at all. Perhaps it was a waste of time that would have been better spent in bed resting, but she didn’t regret it. 

Byleth pushed open the doors to the War Room, limping through the threshold as she forced the pain into a dark corner of her mind, choosing to experience it at a more convenient time. Inside, she found her allies seated around a long, rectangular table in heated discussion. Those that had been at her side yesterday were now taking part, including Caspar, Linhardt, and Dorothea. The other Black Eagles were there as well, Ferdinand passionately engaging in something with Catherine and Seteth, while Petra and Bernadetta sat on either side of him. Several others were in attendance as well, watching from afar or holding small discussions amongst themselves: Shamir Nevrand, Alois Rangeld, Felix Fraldarius, Sylvain Gautier, Hilda Goneril, and Marianne von Edmund, to name a few.

Catherine leapt from her chair, hands on the table as her voice began to rise in desperation, “She raised an army against the Church, the goddess! The plan was to kill her, and now we should spare her just because the Professor couldn’t finish the job?!”

Ferdinand stayed seated, but the emotion in his voice betrayed his passion, “Catherine. She may yet have information that is useful to us. It would be ludicrous to execute Edelgard before interrogating her.”

Seteth matched Catherine, leaning forward and looking around the table. “Interrogating her? What if the people of Adrestia discover their beloved Emperor is yet alive? They will rally around her and storm the Palace. We cannot allow such an insurrection to occur, not while Rhea is still missing.”

“And what of Rhea, Seteth?” Eyes turned towards Linhardt, sleepily cradling his head in his hands. “What if Edelgard knows of her location? Do you not think it better to ask her than to scour every nook and cranny of Fódlan?”

Seteth looked down at the bishop, face tightening at his concession. “And who would that blasphemer confess such secrets to? One of you?”

The discussion was interrupted by the sound of the door shutting behind Byleth, its impact echoing through the vast hall that seemed so silent compared to a few seconds before.

It seemed like Byleth was on a streak of irrationality, intent on either ruining her reputation or proving everyone wrong in their doubts of her. Either way, a voice inside her heart told her to say it, and she knew better than to question such voices.

“I’ll do it.”

All eyes fell on Byleth. The chosen Professor. The Ashen Demon. The Enlightened One. Regardless of her history with each of the people in this room, word had undoubtedly spread far and wide of her hysterical rampage through the streets of Enbarr yesterday, as well as her tears on the steps of the Emperor’s throne. She was a suspect, a liability, a question mark.

Part of Byleth wanted to hurt at the distrust from those she’d become so close to, but she understood. She did not blame Seteth, or Catherine, or Shamir, or Alois. They were right to question her loyalties, she would be surprised if they didn’t.

Catherine sized her up, taking in her injuries as more evidence against the Professor’s case. “You expect us to trust you after that stunt you pulled in the throne room? Given the last 24 hours, I’m more inclined to believe you’re a spy than an asset.”

Byleth began to cross the room towards the table, shoulders high and hiding the pain she felt to the best of her ability. “She trusts me. She knows I won’t hurt her.”

Each pair of eyes in the room tracked her every movement, the creaking of the wooden crutches echoing as she made her way to a seat at the head of the table. Byleth felt the thoughts running through everyone’s head, gears turning in the early morning light.

_What’s her plan?_

_Is the Professor trying to redeem herself?_

_She’s gone crazy._

_I don’t trust her._

_Maybe she’s right._

Ferdinand broke the silence, bringing the attention back to himself as Byleth sat down at the head of the table: the Chuch of Seiros on her left and the Black Eagles on her right. “The Professor has a point. Edelgard has always trusted Byleth, which I admit I used to be very jealous of. She had a soft spot for her until the very end. Perhaps we can use yesterday’s events to our advantage.”

The tension in the War Room had softened, but Catherine’s anger showed through her tone, dripping with intent and distrust, “And how do we know we can trust you? How do we know you won’t conspire against us and break her out? This war is over, and I have no intention of giving you the chance to start it again.”

If anyone was familiar with the fear of Edelgard’s war dragging on, it was Byleth. It gnawed at her heart, feasting on the nightmare of having to step out onto the battlefield again to take more lives. If she was sure of anything in this rapidly emerging world that she found herself in, it was that she’d do anything to prevent this from continuing on. Anything her body would let her do, at least.

Before Byleth could speak in defense of herself, Petra answered for her. “I am trusting of the Professor. If you do not, I will leave.”

Brigid’s support of the new United Fódlan was critical, and this act of faith on Petra’s part shook Byleth to her very core. She looked to the woman, purple hair in a long braid, and thanked her with a nod that they both knew well.

Ferdinand saw the shock on Catherine’s face and quickly followed suit, wagering his own position and reputation to support Byleth, despite all odds. Soon, each and every one of the Black Eagles supported Byleth in her initiative to be Edelgard’s interrogator. These promises and assurances were unquestionable, not by a single soul on the continent.

Byleth, in turn, watched each of her former students rally behind her once again as they looked past her rampage in the streets of Enbarr, her mysterious motives, and her unreadable expressions. They supported her despite it all, an act tantamount to placing their lives in her hands as she played with fire.

She’d never been so honored in her life.

* * *

_Chains. Shackles. Knives._

_The tools of the torturer._

_Rats crawled in the corners of the dank, dark cell, scurrying out of reach as soon as she tried to crush them. Water, silty with dust and fragments of the stone around them, dripped from a patch of mold on the ceiling. No windows. No light. At first, only the sounds of crying, followed quickly by the reassurances of one of the older ones. After a while, there were no more comforting words, and the crying turned to whimpering. And when that stopped, it was replaced by scratching._

_Incessant, tireless scratching._

_In the walls. In the ceiling. And then one day that stopped too, and it was just her._

_Alone. No light, no sound except her own breathing._

_Just when she thought it was all over, the rats come to claim her, the mold to take her lungs, the ocean to swallow her whole, light appeared where there was none as a rectangle in the wall, and the silhouette of a man stepped through._

_His voice smooth, rehearsed, calculating, he called out to her._

_“It’s your turn Edelgard.”_

Edelgard’s eyes shot open, her sweat ice cold against her skin as the inky blackness swallowed her up and disappeared from the forefront of her consciousness and back into the nagging itch just below the surface.

The same nightmare she’d had for over a decade now. The one that haunted her nights, kept her from sleeping until she’d become so exhausted that she nearly collapsed. Only this time, her waking didn’t erase the sounds and smells of her nightmares. She found herself slouching against a stone wall, a familiar rectangle of light filtering in through a small slit in the wall the size of a letterbox. A small bedroll was spread out on one side of the room, unused. 

Gone was the grace and elegance of the Emperor, hair tightly coiled into paired buns and dress intricately adorned with brass clasps. Now here she lay: bloodstains barely visible against the crimson of her clothes, dirt and mud caked on her boots, and her hair a disheveled mess.

But Edelgard didn’t care. In truth, the previous regality of her appearance was more a requirement of her station than a preference of her own, not that she enjoyed sitting in this cell, waiting for Death to call her name once again. She was merely surprised she survived this long. Three days had passed since she was thrown into a cell inside the Palace of Enbarr. 

Three days since the Resistance’s Army invaded the capital of Adrestia.

Three days since Byleth drew a sword to strike her down, and _failed_.

She took a deep breath, attempting to collect herself as the last dregs of sleep slipped away from her. In all honesty, Edelgard had expected — hoped — to be gone by now, rotting in a ditch somewhere outside of Enbarr, death swept under the rug and corpse forgotten by everyone except the midnight black ravens.

To say she was happy to be alive was a misunderstanding. Her teacher’s actions, however questionable, only prolonged the inevitable. Rhea was sure to have her executed without trial, and Those Who Slither in the Dark would be left to their own devices, installing new dictators across Fódlan with the Church and whatever government came after hers left none the wiser. A quick and silent execution would only ensure that fact, and it had become cemented in her mind that there was no hope left, not like there was much to begin with.

Edelgard had failed. She failed to unseat the archbishop. She failed to destroy Those Who Slither in the Dark. She failed her nation.

She was ready for this to be over, for the Sun to blink out of existence and freeze her world solid, forever. Every minute she remained on this plane caused more pain than good. It was done. She was ready.

For a moment, Edelgard thought her wish had come true, that the undertaker had appeared at her command. She opened her eyes to the sound of the lock on the door rattling, its gears clicking in calculated succession until the steel hatch was released, smoothly freed from the padlock. Slowly, it creaked open at the nudging of a woman on crutches, arm in a sling and legs hidden under an unfamiliar long skirt.

Edelgard was speechless.

She watched her old professor struggle with a tray of food in her unstable arms, shifting from one leg to the other and balancing the tray as she maneuvered through the doorframe and into the cell. She kept her head down, focusing on the feat of dexterity she was completing and not meeting Edelgard’s eyes once, so the Emperor watched her without reservation. She watched the tendons in her arm shift to accommodate the platter. She watched the unfamiliar ways that she wielded the crutches, unused to being so encumbered. She watched emerald hair fall into her eyes that refused to meet hers, the same hair of the Archbishop and the Church’s lackeys that she’d fought to unseat. As the door to the cell closed, Edelgard caught a glimpse through the crack of a few familiar faces. A tall man, long hair the color of a warm sunset that held himself with an annoying amount of pride. Another, eyes matching Byleth’s hair, that stared back at her with an animosity resembling Rhea’s. More surrounded them, more than Edelgard thought could fit into the tower, but the door slammed shut before she could recognize any of them.

For the first time in three days, Edelgard received food, brought to her by none other than the one that was _supposed_ to kill her, but couldn’t. She didn’t forget. She watched the woman in front of her slowly make her way over to her, silent as she approached, head down and avoiding all contact. She set the tray down in front of her before moving back to the opposite wall, sliding down against it and wincing as she hit the ground.

Edelgard looked at the plate in front of her. It was basic, most of it expected for a prisoner like her. Bread. Fish. Vegetables. But on the corner, unseen until now, was a plate of three sweet buns, identical to the mouthwatering desserts served at Garreg Mach on special occasions. The Professor would always order them for her during their dinners together, in a much simpler time.

She knew better than to fall for such simple tricks, but her eyes kept wandering to the bandages covering Byleth’s arm and poking out from under the bottom of her skirt. Something happened.

For a long while, the cell was silent. Neither of them spoke, and Edelgard didn’t have an appetite, so there they sat. 

Five minutes passed.

Twenty minutes passed.

An hour.

Edelgard couldn’t take it anymore. Her patience was shattered days ago, and she was ready for this to be over. “What do you want, Professor?”

Her eyes finally met Edelgard’s, stare cutting through the air that separated the two women. At the Monastery, Edelgard prided herself on being one of the only people that could read the Professor’s cryptic expressions, seeing hints of her emotions when no one else could. But now...the woman that stared back at her was a different creature. Her face was a novel, pages sprawled open and whipping in the wind for her to read at her leisure. It told of heartbreak, of regret, of hope, of guilt, and of concern, all in one look.

Byleth’s face softened. “I want you to eat.”

Edelgard knew better than that. This was basic interrogation. Byleth wanted her to trust her, to let her in, to show her her deepest secrets, all for the sake of information. It was a ruse; a trick. An unnecessary one that Edelgard really didn’t care for as well.

Edelgard brought her face into hard stone, cold as the cell she slept in. “Professor. There is no need for such simple tactics. I will tell you whatever you want to know. Just...please, finish this.” Edelgard’s voice softened as she finished, almost begging for an ending to her suffering.

Byleth watched her inquisitively, shaking her head after she seemed to find what she was looking for. “No. I just want you to eat.”

Her bizarre insistence on following these interrogation procedures began to annoy Edelgard. She was restless. There wasn’t any need for this. 

“Professor. Please. Just get it over with.”

Again, Byleth shook her head, followed by a calm “No.”

Edelgard had had enough, her lack of sleep and food catching up with her. She stood from her place on the ground, standing above Byleth for one of the only times in her life. “My teacher. Whatever you are doing, whatever your plan is, would it not be better to complete it now instead of later? You are wasting your time, as well as mine. _Please_.”

Edelgard could feel herself losing control, becoming hysterical, but she wanted to let it out after years of keeping every emotion sealed away, letting it simmer and simmer until it finally broke the dam in a surge of roaring fire.

She made her way over the Professor, kneeling in front of her in desperation. “Let me tell you everything, and let Rhea order me to death. Finish the task you were unable to complete in the throne room, I beg of you!” She reached forward, wrapping her gloved fingers around Byleth’s collar, tears beginning to wet the corners of her eyes and her voice beginning to crack with passion. “I can’t...do this anymore. Please. You are the only one who can do it.”

“I won’t.”

“ _Why?!_ ”

“I will not kill you, Edelgard.”

“ _Please. I do not wish to see another dawn._ ”

“No.”

Edelgard’s grip loosened, her cheeks wet with tears as her arms fell to her side, defeated. Drained of all energy left in her. She did not understand why Byleth refused to listen to her, to take the simplest path. She didn’t understand any of it.

There were two knocks, swift and rapt on the steel door. Byleth seemed to understand and moved to gather her crutches as Edelgard sat frozen on the ground, knees folded underneath her as she traced the cobblestone with her teary eyes.

She used the last of her energy to ask one question, one simple question that she felt she had a right to know before Byleth left and she’d be alone again, for who knows how long.

“Why are you doing this?”

Byleth stopped in her tracks, halfway across the room as she lumbered on her crutches. She turned back, taking Edelgard in with gentle eyes that seemed to hold her in a soft embrace, gentle against her skin in ways that she hadn’t known for decades.

“If you tell me anything, they will order me to kill you.”

With a turn, Byleth shuffled through the cracked door, which sealed tightly behind her. Once again, Edelgard was left alone save for the freshly wet floor, the plate of sweet buns, and the thought that there was still someone out there that didn’t want her to die.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth struggles with being stuck in the Palace. Edelgard learns something new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! You all get a longer chapter this week, so get EXCITED

Byleth tightened her coat around her, trying her best to shield her body from the winds drafting through the castle corridors and tunnels. Outside, the sky over Enbarr was blanketed by thick, dark clouds that blocked out the warm rays of sunlight attempting to reach the ground. Winter was fast approaching, and there was no indication that they’d be leaving the Empire anytime soon.

Nervous energy wracked Byleth’s body, unaccustomed to being on bedrest for so long. She’d taken to wandering around the castle, exploring its cellars and attics in an attempt to get more comfortable in the foreign place. Having her students there helped, but they sat in meetings all day, went into the city, and had even begun undertaking diplomatic missions to villages throughout the Empire while they awaited her results. Yet here she was, shambling around the castle and unable to leave the Palace for fear of being recognized by Imperial sympathizers. At this point, the only thing keeping her sane was the thought of her next visit to Edelgard.

_Edelgard._

Her face stuck in Byleth’s mind, the desperate clutch of her fingers around Byleth’s collar as she pleaded for a death Byleth couldn’t bring herself to provide. It was Edelgard as the Professor had never seen her: resigned to a fate that’d been laid out in front of her. The memory of her so different from the woman she knew sent chills up her spine. 

Rounding a corner, mind lagging on the Emperor’s begging eyes, Byleth stumbled upon the entrance to a large room, filled from wall to wall with three stories of books and a regal fireplace decorating one side, surrounded by large sofas. The library. 

Linhardt was lounging in a chair with Caspar dozing at his feet, snores echoing through the hall as his partner lazily flipped through a book in his lap. He glanced up as Byleth passed the threshold, excitedly waving her over in the way that Byleth knew he did when he had been charmed by a book.

Keeping his voice low, Linhardt called out to her, “Professor! Look at this library! It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

Byleth scanned the shelves, wondering how a single room could hold so much information, so many facts and figures. “Yes, it is.”

“The monastery’s library pales in comparison. There are books here I’ve only heard tales of, never thought to be attainable by a mere curious scholar like myself. Can you believe that?” Linhardt’s excitement got away from him, stirring the man that rested at his feet. He checked himself, lowering his volume so as not to disturb Caspar. “It’s amazing.”

The thought that there were books Linhardt had never read seemed impossible to her. She figured she’d indulge him. “What kinds of books?”

At the question, Linhardt’s green eyes sparkled with excitement as he closed the tome he’d been reading to show Byleth the cover.

_“Tales of Adrestia: An Early History”_

It sounded awfully boring to her, and exactly like the titles that Garreg Mach possessed. She wasn’t sure what was so special about it, but Linhardt had a tendency to obsess over mundane things. She just went along with the flow.

“It details the first few hundred years of the Adrestian Empire, up until the War of the Eagle and Lion, when Loog rebelled against Adrestia. It is filled with all kinds of stories that were left out of the histories of Garreg Mach, and the bookkeeping is remarkable. I only wish there was more information from the very beginning of the nation-state.”

Byleth nodded in acknowledgement, beginning to get a little bored but intent on her desire to master a new skill while she was cooped up. She hoped that she could appreciate all this raw information with as much fervor as Linhardt. “Do you have any recommendations, Linhardt?”

He returned her question with a quizzical look. “Recommendations? For books?”

She nodded.

A smile spread across his face, replacing his confusion from a moment before. “Well, what kind of books are you looking for?”

“What...kind?”

“Yes! History, research, fiction, poetry-”

“Poetry?” Byleth had never heard that word before. “What is poetry?”

“Well...that is an excellent question Professor. Not exactly my specialty. It is…” Somehow, he struggled to find the words. “It is kind of like music, but it doesn’t have to be, and you read it instead of listen to it.”

That didn’t make any sense to Byleth, but anything that puzzled Linhardt this much piqued her interest. “Like sheet music?”

He shook his head. “No, not exactly. I’ve never quite understood it, honestly. Maybe you should ask Bernadetta. She knows much more about the artistic modes of writing than I do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have business to get back to.”

Byleth took her cue, pivoting and limping towards the entrance of the library until a voice called her back again.

“Oh, and Professor, please do get some rest. You’ll heal faster that way.”

Byleth rolled her eyes and kept her unsteady pace. She’d never heard of anything like _poetry_ before, and Linhardt’s lackluster description had made her curious. It would almost certainly provide her something to whittle away the hours in between her visits to the tower.

She wandered to Bernadetta’s room, a small, secluded quarters in the corner of the castle that would ensure that she had a place to escape to if the world of politics she found herself in became too much for her.

She knocked on her door.

“H-hello? Who is it?”

Byleth moved to shift her weight against the door, pressing her head against the oak. “It’s me.”

All of a sudden, the door swung out from under her, sending Byleth hurtling towards the ground and her crutches sent scattering across the floor. Before she knew it, Byleth was sprawled across the ground, a blinding white pain shooting from her legs to right behind her eyes. For a moment, that pain was her entire world. There was no sound, no light, and all that existed was a feeling like her legs were tearing open and lightning was spilling out of them.

Then, she was back, Bernadetta knelt above her, scared for her life. “Professor?! Professor are you alright?! Oh goddess...I’ve killed her.” She sat on her heels, resigned to her fate. “I killed the Professor.”

Byleth struggled to move, still recovering from the episode. She managed to regain her speech, wincing in shock as she moved her mouth, “It’s...okay…”

Bernadetta returned to herself, recoiling in shock. “You’re alive! Oh goodness. Are you okay Professor?” She reached out, grasping Byleth’s hand as she helped her to her feet and fetched her crutches.

“Yeah...Yeah I think so.” She struggled to reorient her mind. That pain was...new. And not just new in relation to the past few days, although it carried the same structure of the dull ache in her legs. This was a feeling she’d never, in her entire life, experienced before, like a fire burning her from the inside out. “I’m okay Bernadetta.”

She didn’t look like she believed her.

“I promise. I’m fine.” Byleth shoved the pain down, deeper and deeper until she could push past it. “I actually came here for a reason. Linhardt sent me.”

Bernadetta stepped aside to allow Byleth to enter, gesturing her to one of the chairs in the corner of the room covered in haphazardly thrown yarn, needlework, and sheets of scribbled paper strewn about her desk. It looked exactly the same as her room back at Garreg Mach, save for a few suitcases still partially packed.

Bernadetta hovered by the door, still high strung as she watched Byleth drop into a fluffy recliner in the corner. “He...sent you? Is it about that book I borrowed from him? I haven’t finished, but it’s no big deal, I can give it—”

“No, it’s not that.” Byleth waved away the question with her good arm. She was about to move forward with her question, but a crumpled up piece of paper caught her eye, just visible underneath her chair. She bent over to pick it up out of curiosity.

“Wait Professor!” Bernadetta lunged forward, attempting to grab the paper out of her hands. Panic leaked into her voice, “That’s private!”

Byleth stopped unfurling it at that. She handed it back, but Bernadetta’s forward behavior piqued her interest. “What is it?”

She reached out, taking the paper from Byleth and cradling it in her hands like it was a dying rose, as if any careless touch could turn it to ash. “Um. It’s...personal.”

Byleth raised one eyebrow.

Her cheeks flared. “Not that kind of personal! If you must know...it’s a letter. From my father. You remember what I told you about him, right?”

How could Byleth forget. A man so desperate for money and power that he tortured his eldest daughter for years in an attempt to make her obey every command given to her. _A perfect wife_. Byleth felt bile rising into her throat at the words, nodding to the woman across from her who finally took a seat on her bed.

“I guess...you may read it, if you truly want to. Although I’m sure you know what it says already.” Bernadetta’s voice was resigned in a way that reminded Byleth of Edelgard, how she felt powerless in the face of a world built against her.

Byleth reached across the gap, carefully taking the letter from Bernadetta and opening it.

_Bernadetta,_

_Hello daughter. I trust that you are well, and have left me without a single letter for good reason._

_More importantly, I am writing to thank you for deposing that crimson stain upon the throne. She was a tyrant, a poison to all that makes Adrestia great, to speak nothing of the foul damage she incurred upon our allies in her short reign, most notably our dear friend Duke Aegir. I have heard rumor that his son has taken up the mantle of Prime Minister, assuring the death of that heretic himself. He is a hero, and I hope you had the sense to snare him before someone else sinks their claws into him._

_I have received word from Seteth, Advisor to the Archbishop, that the order of my house arrest has been terminated with the end of the war. I will be returning to Enbarr as soon as things have quieted down, so be prepared to introduce me to our new Prime Minister. I expect great things._

_Your Father,  
Count Varley_

As she looked up from the paper, Bernadetta sat staring at the hands in her lap, flexing and relaxing her clenched fists in succession, struggling to remain composed in the face of such a letter. 

Byleth was stunned, immediately understanding Bernadetta’s composure. She was at a loss of what to do or say, other than “Bernadetta...I’m sorry.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, swiftly followed by scrubbing them away with balled up fists. “It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m not sure what to do, but it will all work out, right Professor?” She pleaded, asking for a lie to acquiesce her fears.

“I hope so.” She paused. “Why was your father under house arrest?”

Bernadetta seemed more comfortable to talk about the cold, hard facts of the past. She hardened. “Edelgard placed him there. I’m not sure exactly, maybe for being a part of the Insurrection of the Seven. But to tell you the truth Professor, I don’t really care. The years where he was locked away have been some of my happiest, despite the war. I didn’t feel like he was right behind every corner, threatening to take me away. But now…” She trailed off, not needing to finish her sentence.

Byleth could see the conflict in her movements, her recognition that she’d fought so hard for this world, yet might not be able to experience it to the fullest because of her own actions. She stood, struggling for a moment as the echo of pain in her leg reemerged before crossing the room to sit beside Bernadetta.

“We’ll figure it out.” And she meant it. She couldn’t let her student, who had come so far, who had tried so hard, fall through the cracks. She wasn’t sure how, but she’d try her best.

Bernadetta sniffled. “Th-thanks Professor.”

They both sat in silence for a long time, broken up by soft sobs for a while until they quieted, and Bernadetta spoke up.

“Um...Professor, what did you want to talk to me about before?”

The memory of why she came to visit returned to Byleth’s mind without any shame in shifting to such a mundane topic. “Oh! Poetry.”

Bernadetta looked confused, a much more preferable state than the pain of before. “Poetry?”

“I asked Linhardt for book recommendations since I can’t leave the Palace, and he told me about poetry. He did a poor job of explaining it, so he sent me to you.”

Bernadetta stood up with purpose, moving to a low bookshelf by her desk. “Okay...well, what do you know about it?”

Byleth racked her brain, coming up short. “Next to nothing.”

That caught Bernadetta off guard, looking back to her professor that seemed to have as much knowledge about the literary arts as she had knowledge of the church before arriving at Garreg Mach. She moved back to the bookcase in front of her, plucking one tome off the shelf and carrying it over to Byleth. “Well, here’s a good place to start I guess, if you really want to read some.”

Looking over the drab cover, Byleth took it from the woman.

_“Anthology of Fódlan Poetry, 1100 and After”_

Byleth opened the cover, flipping through the first few dozen pages to find nothing but words. Albeit there were no walls of text like in Linhardt’s books, but still. She looked up, deadpan, “There’s no pictures.”

“N-no...there’s not...”

* * *

As the days crept by, Edelgard began to notice the peculiarities of her cell. Moss seeped through the stone, just beginning to pool in the divots of the floor as the frost of the morning melted and left stains on the floor. The Empire had not had a prisoner placed here since Edelgard had risen to the throne, nor placed one in the dungeons beneath the palace, save for Rhea, who was probably roaming the castle as she sat there, powerless. It was a cruel irony, she recognized that. And yet, she couldn’t help but sympathize with the members of the Resistance. They did not know what she knew, they did not experience what she experienced. Perhaps she should have acted as a songbird, telling each and every person she could find of the Church’s misdeeds and the lies spread by its archbishop.

No, she would have been killed by Rhea before she even came of age.

Perhaps she should have waited, held her ground and tried to make Adrestia stronger before attacking.

No, she might have been turned into a political puppet, just as her father was. Powerless against those that had selfish interests at heart.

Edelgard realized, here in her cell, with nowhere left to run, that the only world in which she could have achieved her goals was a world where Byleth had joined her cause, fought against the very figure that wished to control her. In a way, her and Edelgard weren’t so different. Edelgard had been unable to fully shirk her Uncle’s influence, and Byleth had been unable to...Byleth chose not to disobey Rhea.

Edelgard wondered what Arundel was doing. He probably assumed she was dead, which made her chuckle at the morbid thought. Of all the ways she had expected to finally free herself from his grasp, a faked death was not even under consideration. Although, a real one had been. She’d done everything in her power to allow the Resistance to take the Palace. It was a solid plan: move her strongest forces to the easiest places to defend, have an easily breachable line everywhere else. Keep only the amount of guard necessary to prevent suspicion stationed at her doors. The Black Eagles knew the Palace’s weaknesses, and they capitalized on them. It kept Imperial losses to a minimum in the event of a defeat, which was all but inevitable by that point. Her plan worked it seemed, up until the final step at least.

Unwelcome memories from the night before fluttered into Edelgard’s mind, threatening to send her over the edge once more.

_“Let me tell you everything, and let Rhea order me to death. Finish the task you were unable to complete in the throne room, I beg of you!” Edelgard felt her body lunge forward without thought, her blinding need for numbness overtaking everything else. She felt the fine silk of the Professor’s collar in her fingers before she knew what she was doing, grabbing hold of it with a tighter grip than she had of her own life._

_She begged for release, for the cold darkness of the ocean she feared so much. In that moment, nothing mattered more. Edelgard was tired. She wanted this crushing weight to disappear. Only one person could take it away. Her eyes met Byleth’s, the color of a field in Spring. She couldn’t take the sight of them, her chest aching at the sight._

_“I can’t...do this anymore. Please. You are the only one who can do it.”_

Edelgard barely slept after her exchange with the Professor, nibbling at the food she brought her. She was raw with emotion, tipping from one extreme to the other, now a freshly emptied vessel of tears rapidly drying as it was exposed to the air.

She replayed the memories in her head, unable to bring her mind back to the material world. Edelgard could almost feel the soft satin that made up Byleth’s collar, rubbing her fingers together in a desperate attempt to bring the feeling back. It grounded her, made her remember where she was.

As if on cue, the cold steel of the cell door began to creak and moan, as if it was actually resisting the movement. Hurriedly, Edelgard straightened her dress and sat up.

A familiar mop of hair announced the Professor’s arrival, and with it another day that Edelgard might go on living. She felt her muscles tighten at her entrance, watching the clumsy movement around the doorframe with her crutches. At the sight, Edelgard remembered the bandages peeking out from under the Professor’s skirt the night before.

She was silent, still recovering from the previous visit and in a bit of disbelief of how Byleth was handling all of this. She wasn’t sure if it was a dream or a nightmare, and the Professor’s nonchalant stature told her that this would be a repeat of yesterday.

This time, she managed to catch her interrogator’s eyes without trouble, returned by a curt nod in her general direction as Byleth slid down the wall opposite her. Her skirt — a sharp change from the elaborate tights and shorts her teacher used to wear — splayed out in all directions like a black rose that’d just begun to bloom.

Last time was all fighting, and Edelgard came away with next to nothing. Tonight, she decided, she would learn exactly what was going on outside this cell. She would be the interrogator.

“You ate.”

Edelgard’s eyes went wide as she remembered the tray beside her, now empty. The sweet buns were nowhere to be found, picked clean over the course of the day. She felt her cheeks flush.

“Yes. I did.”

Byleth smiled, the soft curl of her lips bringing a light to the cell that Edelgard hadn’t felt since she arrived. She almost let herself believe that this was just another tea time, another visit to the Monastery’s garden with the Professor. Almost.

Edelgard cleared her throat, pushing the sunny memories down and focusing on the room around her. She wasn’t going to waste more time begging for something she couldn’t get, so she might as well sate her curiosity. “So, Professor, what does Rhea think of this situation?”

“What does Rhea think?”

Edelgard nodded as she detected a hint of confusion in Byleth’s voice.

“We don’t know where Rhea is,” she said matter-of-factly, as if it was entirely unimportant. “That’s what they want me to find out.”

Of all the things Edelgard had expected to hear, that was not one of them. She knew exactly where Rhea was located, a few hundred feet below the two of them. She knew exactly what cell, and had been to visit her several times while she was in Enbarr. The fact that they hadn’t found her yet left her speechless. In fact, it could only mean one thing, something that she’d assumed was impossible since the Resistance stormed the throne room.

Hubert was yet alive.

Edelgard was speechless. That fact, that one sentence was what kept her alive. The feelings of the day before came rushing back, along with the realization of how close she was to soaring over the edge. She could say it. She could tell her, and then there’d be nothing keeping the Church from putting her head under the blade. It was so close she could almost taste it.

But...her vassal. The one person who was by her side through everything, was still out there. Somewhere. Which also meant that the Resistance, as well as the Church, had no idea about her uncle. With that revelation, she knew she couldn’t die. She had one more thing to ensure: that Those Who Slither in the Dark be wiped away from Fódlan.

But she couldn’t lie to her, not anymore. She’d done enough lying. 

“My teacher…” Byleth’s head perked up. “Rhea. She’s in the dungeons beneath the Palace.”

A deep exhale emanated from the woman across from her. “I thought she might be.”

“You...you did?”

Byleth nodded, unsurprised. “I remember you telling me of your family, and the things the Prime Minister and his accomplices did.” Her voice hardened as Edelgard noticed her hand white-knuckled around the fabric of her coat. “I figured, if no one could find you all there, it would be a good place to hide Rhea.”

“And you haven’t told the rest of the Resistance? The Church?”

“No.”

“Why?”

For one of the only times in her life, Edelgard saw the Professor falter. “I...I’m not sure.”

Edelgard knew her fate though, now bound to the path she was on. “Well, if you do not inform them now, then you are complicit.”

“I know. I will keep them from executing you.”

Edelgard felt her cheeks begin to burn suddenly. “I-What are you saying Professor?!”

“You are an asset. They can’t kill you just because they are angry.”

_An asset._ She had no reason to be upset over that, and yet the word clawed at her heart.

“Tell Rhea that.”

“I will.”

Speechless, again. The Professor had a way of making her like that, time and time again, but Edelgard forced herself forward. “Why? Why go to such great lengths to keep me alive when I have done all I can to ensure otherwise?”

Byleth brought her eyes to meet Edelgard’s in the dark cell, two traitorous emeralds shining through the night air and striking straight through her. “Why did you start this war, Edelgard?”

She knew this one, practiced it in her sleep. “To dismantle the crest system and nobility that held this country by its throat.”

Byleth nodded. “That’s what I’ve heard. But what else?”

Edelgard was unsure if this was part of the interrogation, but she felt compelled to empty her life story, to fill the space around them with words and memories and ambitions. She allowed herself to loosen a bit, holding tight to Byleth’s assurance that she’d keep her alive at her own risk. She blamed it on the air. “Professor...I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

“I visited Bernadetta today. She received a letter from her father, Count Varley. He was released from house arrest now that the war is over. Do you know about him?”

Edelgard knew everything about him. His very memory made her retch, and her heart went out to Bernadetta.

She nodded sternly.

“He will be coming to Enbarr soon, and Bernadetta is scared. Why did you put him under house arrest?”

Edelgard shifted uncomfortably. “He is one of the worst of the Adrestian nobles. He helped orchestrate a coup of my father, and he values prestige above all else. He would do anything to achieve it, including torment his own daughter and force her into a deplorable marriage. That is why.”

Byleth brought her legs closer to her, her skirt riding up and revealing the edge of the bandage covering her thigh. The wound caught Edelgard’s eye, its color around the seams darker and more swollen than the day before. The pattern seemed familiar, and Edelgard dug through her memories to find some recollection.

Byleth continued without notice, raising a hand to her chin. “If that’s the case, then I don’t see what’s so bad about your cause.”

Edelgard felt her stomach swirl. “You’re bordering on treachery, Professor.”

“I don’t think we should allow people like him to walk freely.”

“The Church disagrees. They see no problem with his actions.”

Byleth raised her eyebrows, prompting Edelgard to go further.

“Count Varley was the Empire’s Minister of Religion, inherited through the Varley line. Of any noble in the Empire, the Church was closest with him. They knew what he had done, and they did not care.”

Byleth paused for a while, taking in that information and ruminating on it. Edelgard watched with curiosity, struggling to read her face as she processed what Edelgard had just told her.

Then, she remembered where she’d seen those bolts of purple energy that emanated from the wound on Byleth’s leg. It came in a rush, images of darkness, rats and knives in cold cellars flashed through her mind in an instant. Dark magic, coursing through her and her siblings’ veins, burning them from the inside out.

She struggled to stay calm. “Professor...your leg. What happened?”

Byleth looked down at her skirt, seemingly forgetting that she was wounded for a moment. “Oh, there was a trap outside the Palace. I wasn’t paying attention, and it hit me in the legs. That’s what Linhardt said at least. In the moment, I didn’t even notice.”

That confused Edelgard, since she’d specifically ordered there to be no traps. It was supposed to be easy. She needed to be sure. If they didn’t know what they were dealing with, it would almost certainly kill Byleth. And after everything...the very least she could do was return the favor, even if she technically was her enemy.

“My teacher, may I see your wound?”

The woman seemed surprised, not offended or taken aback, merely stunned at the fact that Edelgard would ask such a thing. “Why?”

She felt the blood rush to her cheeks at the thought of prolonging this exchange. “I...I think I may recognize the magic. I may be able to help.”

Byleth considered for a moment before nodding. The Emperor moved from where she was, slowly making her way across the room until sitting down in front of Byleth, the woman’s legs stretched out in front of her.

Edelgard felt tense, like this was some sacred act she shouldn’t be progressing with. Her gloved hands felt stiff and her chest felt hot as she watched Byleth hike her skirt up, revealing long legs thick with muscles and covered in scars. They snaked around her skin like flames licking up a tree trunk, coiling upwards and disappearing underneath the gauze that was strapped around her thigh.

Edelgard’s breath caught in her throat as she suddenly found it hard to breathe. She reached down with one hand, feeling the heat emanating from the wound before she touched it, like stone on a hot summer’s day. Carefully, she hooked one finger under the edge of the bandage, the feeling of Byleth’s skin against her glove sending shockwaves into her heart for reasons unknown to her. The feeling seared itself into her brain as she struggled to move forward, peeling the fabric back as she saw the wound underneath.

It was worse than she thought. Darkness, black as night seemed to be resting at the center of Byleth’s thigh, shooting sparks of violet in every direction as they followed the veins towards the Professor’s heart. The area immediately around the center was cratered, a pit that served as the roots to the infection. Edelgard struggled to maintain a strong face as she lowered the bandage back down, resecuring it and moving back. She felt her breath return to her as she got away, the air around her immediately cooling her down.

“It’s a special kind of dark magic, more invasive than the spells you’ve seen people like Hubert or Lysithea use.”

Byleth moved her skirt back down, listening intently.

Edelgard racked her brain for answers, trying to understand why _he_ was there. “It wasn’t an Imperial trap that hit you, my teacher. It was a trap set by a group that Hubert and I have had our eye on for some while.”

He must have known about her plan to offer her head up to the Resistance, must have tried to give her a fighting chance when she didn’t want one. Now that she was dethroned, he had no ear to whisper into, no collar to tighten around her neck when she disobeyed.

“They are called Those Who Slither in the Dark. You remember Solon and Kronya?” Byleth nodded. “They were mere pawns controlled by my uncle, Lord Arundel, the leader of Those Who Slither in the Dark. We...worked together.”

Edelgard felt sick at the thought.

“They were a group with the same enemy as us: the Church of Seiros. We had plans to annihilate them soon, but...it never came to that. My Uncle must have tried to keep you away, to hold onto his power over me as long as he could. I can’t say for certain, but the magic that he used on you is reminiscent of the same magic used to implant the Crest of Flames within me, and the same magic that killed my siblings.”

As she finished, Edelgard felt her remaining energy be sapped away with her admission. It took all she had left to say that to Byleth, the woman she’d looked up to for so long. And all that was left on the Professor’s face was...nothing. Edelgard couldn’t read it, as much as she tried. Was there anger? Disappointment? Joy? Sadness? She couldn’t tell, which made it hurt all the worse that she didn’t say anything.

Two knocks at the steel door brought their attention away from each other as Byleth began to stand. Edelgard started to move to help her up, but stopped herself.

Crossing the room, Byleth stood before the closed door, one hand on the handle as she spoke.

“I’ll be back.”

And she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank y'all so much for leaving kudos and liking this fic! Honestly, it's one of my favorites I've ever written and I'm so excited for it t keep moving.
> 
> Also, follow me on Twitter if you want! @billyspilgrimag


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Emperor's vassal awakens to a familiar face.

When Hubert von Vestra’s eyes opened, he was in a bed. It was small, a twin, and his boots pressed firmly into the wooden footboard at its base. His mind was bleary as he struggled to blink away the drowsiness affecting him. Slowly, the fog filling the room dissipated, and he was finally able to see that he was in…

A guest bedroom. A desk sat to one side, paper and quills at the ready as a dresser stood empty against the wall. He could see into an open closet, however, to find a variety of long tunics, ornate cloaks, and dark britches hanging neatly. 

The wardrobe of a gentleman, Hubert surmised, which meant he was not where he should be. He and Her Majesty very likely had no nobles left in Enbarr that supported them, certainly none that made up the upper echelons of the former aristocracy.

_Lady Edelgard._

In a rush of newfound energy, Hubert rifled through his memories in an attempt to understand where he was and how he got there. He remembered preparing for a defense of Enbarr, arguing with the Emperor in the quiet, passive way they often did. She was keeping something from him, but despite his best efforts, there was no one he could question that knew her better than her vassal. She trusted him with almost everything, but in the last few days, she’d begun to push him away.

_“It is none of your concern Hubert.”_

_Edelgard turned about face to her desk, keeping her eyes away from him._

_“Your Majesty, it is not wise to divide our alpha teams among the palace walls. Do you not think their abilities would be better served at your side, should the Resistance manage to breach the Capitol?”_

_She hesitated, rifling hands freezing in place, but Hubert couldn’t see her expression. “No. They will be stationed at the perimeter. Understood?”_

_Hubert stood stock still before bowing as he accepted that the Emperor’s mind was inalterable. “Of course, Your Majesty.”_

He had accepted her decision begrudgingly, but refused to allow the threshold of the castle to stand vulnerable in an hour as dire as this one. He gathered those few soldiers that’d been ordered to occupy the upper halls of the palace, places where they were sure not to be needed, and ordered them by his side. If Edelgard would not allow their battalions to guard her doors, he would do it himself.

He remembered the beginnings of the assault, rushing out to the streets of Enbarr while Lady Edelgard looked on, at first attempting to stop him. He ignored her calls, and she did not follow him.

Sounds of fighting echoed through the narrow, brick-laid streets. Steel clashed together and sent sparks flying as wyverns and pegasi soared from rooftop to rooftop, visible only in glimpses as he rushed to the front gates of the palace. Meeting him there, he found exactly what he expected, but still barely felt prepared for.

The Black Eagles were working their way through the city square, cutting down whole Empire squadrons left and right. He saw them all. Caspar, Petra, Dorothea, Bernadetta, Linhardt, and at the tip of the spear, the Professor, with Ferdinand astride an armored warhorse beside her. The Church’s forces rode behind them, covering the rear guard and bearing a banner emblazoned with the Crest of Flames. It was ironic, Hubert thought, that they should carry the symbol of the Professor as well as Her Majesty, but none of that mattered now.

A soldier called from behind him, “It's here! The Crest of Flames banner! There!”

Hubert steeled himself. He’d known for years that this day might come, that he might have to eliminate his old classmates or die trying. It did not come too difficultly for him, but he grieved the reality nonetheless as he looked upon the road of scarlet that stood before him.

He called out to his soldiers above the sounds of war. “Let's ensure they receive a warm welcome. Ready the artillery. Prepare to attack. Rocks, arrows, magic—rain death upon the enemy until they are silent as the grave.” At once, his forces dispersed to their stations.

The Minister of the Imperial Household watched with curiosity as the army made their way through the streets. The Professor, the chosen one of the Church of Seiros, cut through every body that stood in her way without hesitation. She was ruthless, her face hard as stone as she seemed to waft through the streets like a poisonous gas filling the corridors of a dungeon. She didn’t see him yet, he thought, but he began to accept that the chances of his survival were slim to none. The Empire was striking her with all the force they had, its soldiers readily giving their lives to defend the future they fought so hard for. Cuts scored her body, but she didn’t seem to mind, unflinching as she pushed past the gates of the palace, the Black Eagles at her side. He supposed that this was the Ashen Demon he’d heard so much about. He understood the rumors now.

Blank, unfeeling eyes caught Hubert’s as she reached the bottom of the steps he stood atop. Just as the Professor started up the stairs, Ferdinand rushed past her on his steed. Hubert bit back his lip as he started to rain down spell after spell, casting aside Ferdinand’s horse in a barrage of necrotic force. Ferdinand was determined, catching himself as he hit the ground running, silver lance in hand and long, sunset hair floating behind him as he bounded up the steps two at a time.

Hubert called down, sending another Miasma at the man as he quipped, “Running into you in the capital like this— I have to say, it’s almost sentimental.”

Ferdinand shouted up, breath unwavering as he ran. “Hubert! She must leave!”

He almost laughed. “You really think you can make her?”

Ferdinand reached the top of the steps, dodging the incoming spells as Hubert backpedaled in an attempt to buy more time. Ferdinand spoke to him softly, voice heavy with what sounded like regret as he came within striking distance of his lance.

“It does not matter what I think. Those are my orders.”

In one motion, the man in front of Hubert spun, swinging his lance towards Hubert’s head in what he thought was the last thing he’d ever see. Then, everything went black.

That was all Hubert’s memory could offer him as an explanation for why he was being held prisoner in a guest bedroom, and it answered everything and nothing at the same time. If he was here, and not in the palace, he must have failed. The Resistance reached the Emperor, slaying her just as he thought they’d do to him. Grief racked his body to the point where it physically hurt. All purpose dissipated from his life in the span of only an hour or two as Her Majesty was defeated. He cursed himself for not slaying the Professor when he had the chance, years ago. In a way, he would’ve preferred it if Ferdinand had just killed him on the spot. It would have meant less pain.

But that was not important now. He had a contingency plan should he be killed in battle, a letter tucked into his cloak addressed to the Ashen Demon herself telling them of Rhea’s location and of Those Who Slither in the Dark, and of the shared enemy they had. If all else was lost, at least he could ensure the destruction of those foul serpents that had haunted Fódlan for millenia now. That was his new purpose, to ensure the delivery of that letter to...whoever held the highest seat in Adrestia, or Fódlan for that matter. After that...he would see.

In a glance downwards, he realized his cloak was gone, leaving him in dirty garments from the day of the battle, however long ago it was. His hands were locked into steel cuffs, preventing him from performing the somatic components of any curse that might facilitate his escape. Luckily, his feet were free to move as they pleased, and he hoisted them onto the ground, walking over to the window and pulling back the curtains the tiniest bit.

The bright, midday sunlight streamed through, searing the eyes inside his skull and making him feel the sharp throbbing of a knot on the back of his head, no doubt a result of Ferdinand’s hefty swing during the battle. He must have hit him with the flat of his lance instead of the blade, for some reason or another.

Hubert quickly lowered the drapes back into place as he heard the creaking of wooden floorboards outside his door, followed by resonant footsteps that stopped at the threshold. As he heard the lock begin to turn, Hubert cursed the binds around his hands that kept him from defending himself, and readied to meet his captor.

As the lock _clicked_ in place, the door slowly opened to reveal a man. He was tall, posture ramrod straight with all the dignity and self-righteousness of traditional nobility. His clothes were immaculate, a white, billowing shirt buttoned up high and tucked into navy pants that matched those in the closet, and a pair of shiny black leather boots that announced his presence to everyone in the room. He tucked a lock of long hair behind one ear as he stared at Hubert, seemingly surprised to find him in his guest bedroom.

“I thought I heard you moving around.” he said.

“You…”

Ferdinand cut him off.“Do you still not like tea?”

“Correct.”

Ferdinand scoffed, taking this all in stride in a way that Hubert was surprised to see. “Alright. I’ll brew some coffee.” He turned away and strode out the room, shutting the door behind him as he left, but Hubert noticed he didn’t place the lock back in place.

A minute later, he reappeared, carrying a platter with a single teacup and a small carafe, filled with rich, dark liquid. He set it down on the nightstand beside Hubert, then moved to take a seat in the chair by the desk, pulling it to the center of the room so that he sat in the way of Hubert’s path to the door.

“How do you feel?”

“Fine,” Hubert remarked sharply, despite the throbbing in the back of his head.

Ferdinand sat forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Listen, Hubert. I’m sure you know what your presence here insinuates. Edelgard was...defeated by the Resistance Army three days ago.”

Hubert tightened his lips. He knew this, but having it spoken out loud was a new sort of pain. He thought about the message he needed to carry. “Where’s my coat?”

Ferdinand ran his hand through his hair, distressed. “You’re as stubborn as ever. It’s in the coat closet by the foyer, you can grab it on your way out.”

The notion made dark chuckles erupt through Hubert’s sentence as he considered how stupid Ferdinand must be. “You’re really letting me leave?”

“The way I see it, if you wanted to, I couldn’t stop you. I’m barely here these days anyway. The bindings were only to ensure I could speak to you first.” Ferdinand stood up, reaching into one of his pockets and pulling out a small key, gesturing Hubert over to him.

In truth, Hubert couldn’t believe his luck. Not only was he able to escape, but his captor was practically _encouraging_ him to. What an utter fool. He stood, feeling the pain of his head rush back to him, but pushing through it as his shackles fell to the floor. He rubbed his sore wrists, considering his options when he realized that he may be able to use this simpleton to his advantage.

“I have a letter to deliver to the Professor. Do you know where she is?”

Ferdinand winced at the thought of his teacher, covered in bandages. “She is in the palace...recovering from her wounds.” He glanced up at Hubert. “I’m surprised you’re not rushing off into the wilderness, leaving the rest of us to mop us this mess.”

“Mess?! I ought to kill you where you stand for speaking ill of Her Majesty. Lady Edelgard led this nation far better than your father and his flock of leeches could have ever dreamed of.”

“I cannot disagree with you there. She did a fine job until she led an army against the Church.”

“I— what did you say?”

“She was an exceptional leader, one fit to unite all of Fódlan. But her forces were not strong enough in the end. Now we have to bring peace to the land and the people that she fought so valiantly for. I did not expect you to want to assist us.”

“Who is this _us_ you insist on?”

Ferdinand seemed to turn away from the conversation, starting out the bedroom door as Hubert followed him. “If we don’t, the Church will do it themselves. We have a responsibility to this nation’s people that we do not have the luxury to ignore.”

Hubert followed him into the hallway, curious. Once outside the room, he realized that he was not in a commoner’s mere humble abode. He was in the royal estate of House Aegir, an extravagant townhouse located in the upper district of Enbarr. Shining hardwood made up the three-story building, supporting a handful of guest bedrooms, a master bedroom, a personal library, a study, a magnificently well-equipped kitchen, and a roaring fireplace that glowed on the ground floor, welcoming all that entered. Hubert had visited many times when he was a child, ferried alongside his hateful father to meet with the Prime Minister, until he was assigned to be Lady Edelgard’s vassal at least. He always hated it, but it was still far better than the mansions that littered the countryside.

Ferdinand led him to the den, where the glow of the fireplace cast everything in warm amber, illuminating the walls that stood conspicuously bare with hollow rectangles that Hubert could have sworn used to hold portraits of Ludwig von Aegir and his predecessors.

“There is a power struggle for the fate of Fódlan, Hubert. There is the Church of Seiros, who would like nothing more than to have supreme authority. And there is us, your former classmates, who want a return to a peaceful, united nation.” Ferdinand inhaled sharply as he opened the door to the coat closet. “I can’t tell you anything more until you make your choice.” He disappeared into the closet, leaving Hubert outside to ponder what exactly the man meant by that.

He returned, carrying a long, jet black cloak. Ferdinand held it out. “Here. The Professor is in the infirmary inside the palace. However, if you go there, you will be killed. I can assure you that.”

Hubert took his cloak, shifting it over both his shoulders. “What _choice_ are you referring to? Do you truly expect me to help you after you murdered Her Majesty?” Venom dripped from his words as Hubert’s patience wore thin with all these niceties.

Ferdinand turned his eyes away, looking into the fire. “Someone must take the lead, Hubert, to keep this continent stable. You can leave, disappear into the smoke and soot after you accomplish whatever you intend to do, or you can take a chance and see Edelgard's goals through. Everyone thinks you are dead. You are free to do as you wish.”

“And what made you spare my life anyway?” Hubert snarled.

“I...don’t know. Old habits die hard.”

Hubert furrowed his brow, attempting to delve into the motivations of the perplexing man in front of him, but only found the fury and disgust of confronting someone who turned on him and the woman who mattered most. He brushed past him, pushing the door open and feeling a brisk wind strike into his side, blowing his cloak into the air.

“Goodbye Ferdinand.”

* * *

In the Palace, tens of blocks away, the Emperor sat in her cell counting the rising and falling of the sunlight, the hours in between shortening and shortening as winter stood on the doorstep of the Adrestian Empire. In the night to come, she would realize her vassal’s heart still beat. She would tell Byleth the nature of her wounds, and of her uncle’s involvement in the war. She would warn her old teacher, risking her life for the sake of truth and for the people of Fódlan.

But whether she liked it or not, the Archbishop was coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's a bit short y'all! I originally intended to include more at the end but I realized if I did, it would at least be another week before I could update, and I didn't want to leave everyone hanging! Next chapter is gonna be particularly juicy and dramatic, as you might expect, and we'll be returning to the Edeleth show, so get READY
> 
> Also, thank you so much for all the kudos, bookmarks, and ESPECIALLY comments! I appreciate every one of them more than you all know


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Byleth talks with Rhea. Edelgard gets a taste of freedom.

Edelgard is drowning.

Icy currents from the north struck her body in every direction except the surface, forcing her deeper and deeper into the depths of inky blackness. The abyss, where only the most wretched are doomed to reside. She’d find good company there.

For a moment, a glimmer of hope caught her eye. A twinkle above the surface, a flash of seafoam green cresting the waves that crashed over her. With the last of her breath escaping, Edelgard raised a scarred hand to greet her, pushing past the unbearable pressure that the ocean laid down on her.

And yet this time, just like the night that’d come before it, the touch of her hands spread a curse through her teacher’s body, racing through her outstretched fingertips and into the woman’s heart. She was poison in her veins, rotting her flesh and curdling her blood as she moved through her. The hand wrapped around her own grew weaker and weaker, until Byleth was limp, and Edelgard was holding the cold ghost of someone she wasn’t even sure was real in the first place.

All of a sudden, the seawater around her began to grow uncomfortably warm as bubbles rose from the impenetrable depths beneath her. More and more, each one rushing past her and meeting the surface as they began to carry her, up and up until she could see the surface again, and Byleth’s body lay still on the beach until she was about to break the surface and then _pop_.

Edelgard was in her cell, struggling to breathe in the aftermath of drowning and gasping for the cool breeze that blew in through her window. Before her, the pink distortion of a warp spell faded to reveal two familiar faces that she’d begun to think she’d never see again.

Linhardt, hair tied back and clad in dark green robes, let go of Byleth as he finished the motions of the spell. In contrast, her old professor caught herself, stumbling forward with no crutches to be seen as she pressed a warm hand to Edelgard’s lips, silencing her. They were hard, Edelgard thought. Even though she was off the battlefield, ordered to bedrest, she still had the hardened calluses that showed years of work. It was a comforting thought that some things still hadn’t changed as she looked into the new eyes of the woman standing over her.

Then she realized what was happening.

Edelgard’s eyes became the size of platters, obediently keeping her mouth closed as hundreds of questions bounced in her mind and she longed for answers. She did know one thing: there were no worse people to orchestrate a silent execution than the Professor and Linhardt, so she was safe. For now.

As Byleth kept Edelgard’s eyes locked with hers, Linhardt crept to the steel door that occupied one wall, pressing his ear against it as he listened. Outside, he could hear muffled talking begin to erupt. One slurred voice and two calmer ones broken up by friendly banter, a sign that everything was moving smoothly. He nodded to the two of them, shifting his eyes back and forth between the two women and raising an eyebrow as Byleth hesitated a few seconds longer than she needed to before pulling her hand away.

Once she did, she raised a finger to her lips, silently mouthing _“Let’s go”_ before standing up and extending a hand towards the Emperor.

Edelgard’s nightmare flashed through her mind as the fear of poisoning this woman paralyzed her.

_It was just a nightmare, it doesn’t matter anymore._

She shook away the feeling, reaching her hand up and pulling herself to her feet with Byleth’s help as she realized it’d been days since she’d stood upright. Her balance was hard to find as she stumbled a bit before resting a hand against the wall. Before she knew it, Byleth placed two hands on her shoulders, centering her and making the walls of the cell dissolve around her as the weight of two thick arms held her in place.

Linhardt’s whispers interrupted them, “Okay we need to go. Now.”

Byleth nodded as she turned back to Edelgard, who felt so small and weak in comparison. “We’ll explain later. Come on.”

For reasons she didn’t take the time to analyze, Edelgard trusted them both with her life. She certainly wasn’t going to achieve her goal of a better Adrestia from inside this cell, and something about the way Byleth held her felt like...hope.

Edelgard nodded, keeping her lips sealed as Linhardt put his hand out. They both placed their palms in his as their surroundings were whipped away like leaves in a fire, the hard stone of her home for the past week silently slipping into memory as the warm pink of a warp spell carried her away.

###### Earlier That Day

“I think she may be on to something Professor, this looks downright nauseating.”

Byleth used all her strength to send an annoyed look down the length of her bed, where Linhardt was peeling back the bandage on her thigh and staring into the violet crater with morbid fascination. He glanced up, looking apologetic but positively captivated.

He performed a few motions with his hands as magical glyphs began to materialize in the air between the two of them, slowly floating down onto Byleth’s skin and soaking into them. There was a faint, white glow before they disappeared, but as they did, the electrifying pain inside her leg blazed even brighter.

Byleth bit back her tongue, muscles tensing as she went taut, struggling to get another word out as Linhardt began to perform the motions of another charm. “Linhardt...I don’t think it’s working.”

He waved the glyphs away, standing up from her bed in the infirmary. “Hmm. Curious. Professor, what exactly did Edelgard say about the nature of your wound?”

Byleth thought back to the night in Edelgard’s cell, two days ago. The Emperor, clad in scarlet robes with ash-white hair loosely falling over her shoulders. Her face soft with the pain of regret and the torture of a past life. Byleth had fought hard not to reach out and comfort her as she spoke of her uncle...and those eyes when she stood over her, taking so much more care in assessing Byleth’s wound than Linhardt did. She even remembered the warm feeling of a solitary fingertip hooking under her bandage, as if Edelgard was afraid of even touching her.

“She said she recognized the type of dark magic, that it was the same kind Solon and Kronya used.” Byleth made a note to leave out the Crest of Flames and Edelgard’s uncle, despite how much Linhardt would probably love to know.

Linhardt starting pacing. “Uh huh. What else?”

“She...has experience with this type of magic, and recovering from it.” She struggled to be as vague as possible.

“I see.” He lowered himself onto the bed opposite Byleth, twirling a lock of his hair in thought. “How curious. I wish I could talk to her myself, not that you’re not doing a great job, Professor, it’s just not the same. You understand.”

Byleth nodded apprehensively.

Linhardt continued as if she wasn’t there, eyes looking into the far-off distance. “So strange. A dark magic like theirs is nothing I’ve ever seen before. And if your wound is any indication...it is not mundane by any means. I wonder if there is anything in the Palace’s library that may assist us. There was certainly nothing like this mentioned in the Monastery’s.” He stood up from the bed. “I’ll check. You get some rest, Professor, you never know when the Church will return from the dungeons and all hands will be on deck.”

Right on cue, the sounds of a stampede started to echo outside the doors of the infirmary. A rush of steel armor, boots, and frantic shouting brought an entire battalion past the doors, all huddled like a phalanx as they protected something, or someone, at their center.

Within the hour, Byleth was summoned to the War Room.

The Professor limped her way across the Palace, handling her crutches as she felt the sting of her leg burn brighter than ever. It was getting worse, she realized, and way too quickly for her own comfort. Linhardt’s white magic was literally doing more harm than good, and they only had one lead. And now that _she_ was back...she wasn’t holding her breath.

Events had come to a head in the castle, and Edelgard’s fate was sure to be decided in the next few hours, if it hadn’t been already. Byleth steadied herself as she rounded the corner, catching sight of the large oak doors that kept the War Room’s interior hidden from passersby. As she did, they swung open with tremendous force, enough to send them both crashing into the walls at their side before swinging shut again.

Walking out of the hall was Catherine, Holy Knight of Seiros and unwavering champion of all that Rhea stood for, even more so than her right hand, Seteth. Sweat beaded on her brow and her face was bright red, breath short from a freshly finished shouting match. What about, Byleth wasn’t quite sure.

She stormed past Byleth, shoulder checking her as she did and saying under her breath, “You’re turn,” before disappearing into the bowels of the Palace once more.

Byleth turned towards the pair of doors, mentally preparing herself for the discussion ahead, not knowing whether Rhea would be overjoyed to see her or prepared to smite her down. She saw how she reacted when Edelgard turned her back on the Church, and she knew what happened to Lord Lonato when he rebelled. It all came down to how Rhea would respond to Edelgard’s lungs that still filled with air.

Taking one deep breath, Byleth limped forward, pressing open one of the heavy doors and stepping inside. Standing at the opposite end of the room, racing away from her and looking out one of the tall windows of the War Room and over Enbarr, was Rhea. She was in the robes that she wore when Byleth first met her, but they seemed to hang more loosely on her, draping over the form that once filled them out. In the gray, overcast light, Byleth could see she was even paler than before too, but grace still clung to her. That was easy to see just in the way she stood, still as a marble statue looking over a graveyard. Beside her was Seteth, who gave a grave nod as Byleth entered, acknowledging her presence with an attitude that she had trouble deciphering.

Following on the footsteps of the door falling shut behind Byleth, Rhea spoke softly, with a volume loud enough to carry across the long room but still manage to feel like a whisper. “Once, this city was a mere glimmer in the dreams of a simple man. But look at it now: a sprawling metropolis of brick and stone, iron and steel, teeming with life. A testament to the persistence of man, don’t you think, Professor?”

Byleth took a step forward, her crutches creaking under her weight as she did, unsure of what to expect and staying on her guard. “Yes, it’s beautiful. This is my first time in Enbarr.”

“Hm. Perhaps a blessing in disguise, wouldn’t you say? The Adrestian Empire has been falling from grace for some time now, most especially in recent years. You have the privilege of knowing its new dawn, without the muddy past.”

Byleth looked to Seteth, whose face seemed to crease in pain as the conversation went on. She tried to understand what he was thinking, what he was feeling after having Rhea returned after all these years. A sorrowful existence, she imagined, waiting for the return of someone who may not even be alive. And yet, he was willing to give life and limb for her. Byleth wondered if she’d do the same.

Rhea turned away from the window, finally showing her flawless visage to the Professor, a face that looked almost identical to the one Byleth knew five years earlier. If she didn’t know better, she’d say that Rhea hadn’t aged a day, despite being locked away in the basement for so long. She made her way across the room, keeping her eyes on Byleth and catching on the crutches that she leaned on, holding them with curiosity as she approached the head of the long mahogany board table that centered the War Room. Rhea inquired, tone cryptic, “How are your injuries?”

“They’re getting better,” Byleth lied. No need to add additional worry.

Rhea nodded, lips stretched into a fine line where Byleth expected a smile to tug at the corners. “Did you receive those in the Assault on Enbarr?” Rhea posed, a leading question meant to trap Byleth in a corner, and she knew it.

“Yes.”

“I see,” Rhea’s spoke, voice even. “So you were successful in removing the Hresvelg heir’s head from her shoulders?”

Byleth felt the sweat begin to pool in the small of her back. “I—”

When Rhea slammed her fist through the solid hardwood table, it sent a sickening _crack_ through the chamber, dancing across the polished stone and sending vibrations up through Byleth’s bootheels. It glued her to where she stood, speechless as Rhea pulled her clenched hand back through the splintered wood and lacerating the edges. Blood began to well up on her porcelain skin as she moved around the edge of the table, robes fluttering around her form as she made her way to where Byleth could see the whites of the eyes that burrowed into her soul. Seteth was silent, watching with restrained awe and crossed palms from across the room.

“What do you have to say for yourself _Professor_?” Rhea shouted, “Who dares to show the Goddess’ mercy to the most vile among us, those who would seek to destroy her and defile her?!”

Byleth held her lips firm through the assault. She’d faced far deadlier threats on the battlefield, but this was a close second. “We needed information. We would not have been able to find you if we did not keep her alive for interrogation.”

Rhea’s eyebrows faltered for a moment before humoring her. “Ah yes, I have been told at great length about your efforts to extract information from that stain. How you’ve bravely questioned her, alone in her cell for hours on end as I rotted away in a dungeon. How noble of you, Professor, to take almost a week to retrieve information from a captive entirely under your control.” The implication was clear to Byleth.

“We all agreed that torturing her would be a waste of—”

Rhea slapped her. Hard. Her backhand left a trail of blood smeared across Byleth’s cheek, and sent her stumbling backwards as her leg flared once more. The shock sent tears to her eyes, blinking them away as she looked at the archbishop that stood over her, looking down with disgust.

Seteth broke his composure then, rushing over from the corner where he had interred himself until now. “Rhea!” She let him pass by her without comment, keeping her eyes drilled into Byleth’s weakened form as Seteth helped her to her feet. “Do _not_ give me more excuses, Professor, lest you hope to face far greater examples of the Goddess’ righteousness.” Her hard expression softened to a smile once more, one that betrayed the atmosphere of the War Room they occupied. “Now, if that is all, I’m sure you’ll have no trouble going up to the cell where that pest is being held and removing her filth tomorrow morning. She’s offered all she could, hasn’t she?”

Bile rose up in Byleth’s chest, singing her heart at the thought of using the Sword of the Creator to remove Edelgard from this world, despite everyone’s insistence, let alone perform the requests of the woman who kicked her while she was down. Yet no one was stopping her.

Byleth spit onto the ground, a tint of blood spattering across the floor as she tongued her teeth to make sure they were all still secured. She tried to buy time. “She did tell me of something else that might be useful. Her uncle, Lord Arundel, is missing. She said he had ties to Solon and Kronya, something about...Those Who Slither in the Dark.”

At that, Rhea showed the tiniest flinch, as did Seteth, for reasons Byleth did not understand at the time. They exchanged glances, but then Rhea’s anger returned with even more fury than before. “We can handle them ourselves, without that rat. She’s likely trying to steer us off their path anyhow. They were allies, to the very end Professor. Two fangs of the same snake.” Rhea looked her up and down, assessing her until she seemed satisfied. “I expect her head on a pike by the front gate by dawn. Do _not_ disappoint me.”

With a flourish of her long robes, Rhea returned to the window where she started as Seteth half-carried, half escorted Byleth out of the War Room. Byleth had worked for violent, bloodthirsty nobles before, ones who’d turn frenzied at the slightest questioning. She’d learned not to ask questions, at Jeralt’s insistence and advice. Money was money after all, and the politics of Fódlan never interested her enough to inquire too deeply. But this was Rhea, the archbishop who took Byleth under her wing five years ago, offering her a place to sleep, eat, and learn. Though often fleeting, she’d shown kindness and compassion when Byleth needed it. This was Rhea, she kept repeating to herself. Grace incarnate.

Once in the hall, Seteth wordlessly helped her back onto her crutches as she tried to ignore the crippling burn in her thigh. As the familiar creak returned to her, he broke his solemn silence. “She will not listen to reason, Professor. Do not attempt to try, as much as I’m sure you’d like to.” He met her eyes. “Do your duty, just as we all must do.” With no more words, he bowed his head and returned to the War Room, leaving Byleth in his wake.

* * *

Petra paced back and forth in her chambers, fingers pressed into her temples in concentration while Dorothea looked on in worry and Byleth finished her recounting of the morning’s events.

“Professor, that is not making any sense,” Petra thought aloud. “Rhea has always been liking you. We saved her, because of Edelgard!”

Dorothea crossed and recrossed her hands in her lap, considering the situation before speaking. “Perhaps...she dislikes Edie more than she likes the rest of us.” She turned to Byleth, looking for support. “Is that possible, Professor? After everything that’s happened, she cares more for revenge than anything else?”

Drawing on her admittedly limited knowledge of the Church and their customs, Byleth said blankly as she massaged her jaw, “She sees it as justice, not revenge.” Dorothea’s face darkened. “But that doesn’t mean it’s right.”

There was a knock at the large oak door of Petra’s quarters, where they had organized an impromptu meeting of the Black Eagles. Dorothea stood from her place on the edge of Petra’s bed and crossed the room. She opened the door a crack to hide the other two’s presence—namely Byleth’s—and took a glance before swinging it open wide. Streaming inside was a sea of friendly faces: Ferdinand first, tall and proud as always, then Caspar and Linhardt lagging behind, and finally Bernadetta, who followed on the tail of everyone else. They said minor greetings as they spread throughout the relatively small room, taking their places on desk chairs and in corners as they all got acquainted with the current situation, especially as it pertained to the Emperor in the tower.

Curled up and hugging her knees in the back of the room, Bernadetta asked Byleth, “Are you okay Professor?! I’ve heard Rhea hits hard.”

Caspar interjected, “Oh please, I’m sure I could take her!”

“Do not speak so freely of open rebellion Caspar, these are serious times.” Ferdinand’s face was hard as he spoke, shutting down Caspar’s mood like a bucket of ice water to a flame.

Byleth waved away his concern, hoisting herself onto her feet with a great deal of pain that seemed to get worse with each successive minute. She tried to clear her mind, to process all that was happening and consider her options as a good tactician would, but the heart in her chest seemed to keep her anchored to something—or someone. She cleared her throat.

“I know I’ve asked all of you for too much already, but—”

Dorothea interrupted her. “If you’re going to ask us to help save Edie, I’m in.”

“Me as well.”

“We have to.”

“Count me in!”

“We don’t have much of a choice, do we?”

“I mean, I’d be happy to help from the sidelines!”

Byleth stared at her students, wide eyed in a mixture of surprise and admiration. “I…”

Ferdinand approached her from the crowd, resting one hand on her shoulder and looking into her eyes. A soft glimmer danced in them, his hand reassuring. “We had been talking of something similar for a couple days now, and were waiting for you to say something to us.” He gestured to the other Black Eagles. “At the very least, we believe we are all better off with Edelgard alive, rather than dead. At the most, we think she can help us rebuild Fódlan.”

Linhardt spoke up from his place slouched on Petra’s bed, “That, and she’s the only one who knows anything about anything when it comes to that wound on your leg. It’s getting worse, and we have to do something. Letting her be killed might very well ensure your own death.” Everyone nodded in agreement as Byleth looked on, warnings flashing through her head.

“You don’t have to help me. It will be dangerous, and if we’re caught, we’ll be no better off than Lord Lonato all those years ago.” Byleth winced at the thought.

“We are with you, all the way,” Petra assured her.

The next step was to develop a plan to get Edelgard out of harm’s way before the sun came up the next morning, and ideally without anyone in the Palace being the wiser, which was a lot easier said than done. Caspar was the first to suggest that the Palace cooks create a feast of turkey to celebrate the archbishop’s return under the reasoning that it would make the guards sleepier, which drew a lot of incredulous stares until Petra volunteered some sleep-inducing herbs from Brigid to use as stuffing that would enhance the natural effects of the poultry. Linhardt suggested warping into the cell and taking her back down by himself, but Byleth insisted on helping.

“I can’t let you all do this on your own. It’s too risky.”

Linhardt objected, “Professor, you are in no shape to be participating in a jailbreak. You already barely listen to my bedrest orders.”

She put her foot down. “I don’t care. Give me painkillers or something. If this goes sideways, I’m not letting you all be punished in my absence. If I come along, I’ll tell Rhea that I forced you to help me under threat.”

Linhardt looked to Dorothea, who seemed to understand what he was thinking. “Well...we do have something that might help. I do warn you though Professor, it will take its toll on your body. You won’t have any choice but bedrest if you push yourself this far.”

She accepted the terms without hesitation, and that was that.

Then, to alleviate as much suspicion as possible, they needed alibis. Ferdinand and Byleth began roaming the castle, inviting every knight, guard, and housekeeper they could find to the celebration in the Great Hall. Caspar, as everyone expected, would be more than happy to be the life of the party, joined by Petra and her date, Dorothea, who commanded everyone’s attention at the snap of a finger. Dorothea would at one point loudly insist on visiting Ingrid, and Petra would escort her to the tower to occupy her while Linhardt warped Edelgard from her cell. Bernadetta, at her insistence, would not be missed at the party and would meet everyone wherever they were taking Edelgard, which was then decided to be the royal townhouse of House Aegir, as that was realistically their only option besides a random alleyway tavern, where peering eyes and eavesdropping ears were aplenty. Linhardt, the catalyst of the plan and the one orchestrating the point of no return, would make an appearance at the party and in true Linhardt character, make an early exit to get a good night’s sleep and encourage Byleth to do the same, of which she’ll listen for once. From that point on, they’d make staggered entrances and exits as they ferried Edelgard across the city, minimizing the time that each of them spent out of sight of a member of the Church. It wasn’t perfect, but it’s the best they had at a moment’s notice.

Half a day and a burning sunset later, here they were.

###### Later That Night

Edelgard found herself on a street she recognized. Her feet seemed to fall out from under her as her stomach lurched, a side effect of warping she’d never gotten used to. Byleth caught her as she stumbled, wrapping one hand around her wrist and the other grasping her around the waist.

Once again, Edelgard’s breath escaped her, sucked out of her lungs by the frigid wind as the pressure of her teacher’s arm around her waist made her head spin. The feeling of fluttering in her stomach made her think she might throw up, an added cost of warping while on an empty stomach, she assured herself.

Byleth pulled her close, keeping her voice low in the quiet cobblestone street below the watchtower. “Are you okay? Can you walk?”

Edelgard barely heard the woman, her head swimming as she processed just how close she was to her face. Her eyes. Her lips. She could feel warm breath washing over her face, and the tiniest smell of bittersweet liquor caught her nose. She finally realized that she’d been asked a question, and Linhardt was staring at her expectantly. Edelgard nodded as Byleth released her, and the cold air bit into her once more.

Byleth made her way around the curve of the tower, letting the moonlight guide her and she peeked around the corner, where Caspar had appeared. As soon as Edelgard saw him, he let out a huge smile from ear to ear, waving them over as he took the lead. Question after question bombarded Edelgard’s psyche, but she tried her best to hold her tongue at least until they were outside the Palace walls.

Soon, they passed a pair of guards donning the armor of the Church of Seiros, fast asleep at their posts and snoring in their chairs. Either the Church wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, or the Black Eagles were harder than she was worth to break her out of the Palace in one piece.

Skirting the margins of the castle, the group of four finally managed to find a break in the wall, where a guard post was mysteriously emptied of all soldiers, even the ones typically resting atop the parapet and looking out over the city. Below it, a small storeroom stood sealed and locked behind a singular wooden door. At the front of their convoy, Caspar began fishing around in his pockets, digging through one after the other as his hands began to shake.

Linhardt spoke up from behind him, “Caspar, please tell me you didn’t lose the key.”

He bit back, losing control of his volume as he started to recheck all of his pockets for the third time, “Of course not, it’s here somewhere!”

Byleth leaned around Edelgard as she called to the front, “Please keep your voice down, Caspar.”

“I’m sorry! I mean, _I’m sorry_.”

Linhardt slapped his forehead. “Oh Goddess.”

Edelgard thought their cover was blown when the door to the storeroom opened wide, only to see the sunny face of Ferdinand von Aegir staring back at her, shock plastered across his face as if he didn’t expect to see her. With barely a moment’s hesitation, he stepped aside and let them all file into the storeroom before locking it behind them and turned to face the escapees, boots kicking up dust in the cramped room piled high with crates.of all shapes and sizes.

There was a moment’s silence where Edelgard began to doubt her trust, until Ferdinand burst into a smile and gleamed at the Emperor. “Glad to see you in one piece Edelgard.”

“I...thank you.” She wasn’t quite sure what to say, the suddenness of the night’s events causing her to forget herself. “Not to say that I’m not happy to be out of that cell,” she glanced to Byleth, “but what is going on? What are you all doing? If anyone finds out-”

“They won’t find out.” Byleth interrupted her from the wall, where she’d taken her weight off the bad leg. “We’re moving you somewhere safer.”

There goes that blind confidence, Edelgard thought. So matter-of-fact that she made it impossible to argue with her on the most miniscule of points.

Edelgard crossed her arms, turning away from the rest of the crowd and beginning to feel the familiar need to be in control. “And where is that? What could possibly be safer than a Palace cell?”

All eyes turned to Ferdinand, who had begun rustling through a beaten up trunk in the corner, pulling out sets of clothes in every shape and size, all dull grays, browns, and blacks. He found a long coat and a dark gray blouse, seemingly satisfied as he tossed them towards Edelgard, who barely managed to snatch them out of the air. “We’re taking you to my family’s townhouse in the Ruby Quarter. I’m sure the Professor would be happy to tell you more once we’re safe, but for now the questions will have to wait.”

House Aegir. Edelgard knew them better than most, although she’d never visited their townhouse before. Never had the need. She’d heard of it though, host of many lavish parties when the nobility wanted to avoid the eyes of the Emperor. She’d heard tales of blood-red wine abound, chandeliers dancing in the moonlight and grand pianos in the garden. Not really the ideal prison cell, which only brought more questions.

Byleth nodded towards Caspar and Linhardt, who promptly filed out of the storeroom and left the Professor, Ferdinand, and Byleth behind. Ferdinand pulled a key from his trousers, a rod of polished brass with ornate sets of teeth, it screamed _Ferdinand_ in every way. He handed it to Byleth wrapped in a map that’d been marked to show the location of his family’s house. She took it and tucked it in an inner pocket of her coat as Edelgard still cradled the pile of clothes she’d been tossed.

Byleth glanced at her. “You’ll need to change into those, too many people will recognize your ceremonial dress.”

Edelgard’s cheeks burned at the thought, and she fought hard not to shove her face into the pile of linen and wool, but she swallowed her pride for the sake of getting away from that horribly cold cell behind her. “Fine,” she said decisively. “But turn around.”

In all her years, Edelgard never imagined she’d have to strip in the same room as Ferdinand von Aegir and her teacher. To say she felt exposed as she undid the clasps on her dress was an understatement. Her bright red gown, now soiled with dirt and mud and blood that’d hardened with time, fell to the ground around her, and Edelgard thought of the scars that littered her torso. Bright pink and puffy, it snaked around her, following the major arteries and vesicles of her heart that bore two crests, finally erupting in a mass of sinewy tissue at the center of her chest. A final reminder of her uncle that she’d been cursed to bear until she was just bones in the ground. By the time she reached for the blouse, she was practically blessing it in the Goddess’ name. She stuck her head through the neck, tucking it into the midnight black leggings she wore under her dress and covering it all in the thick wool overcoat, thankful to be warm again.

“Okay, you may turn around now.” They did, and Ferdinand seemed unphased, moving back to the door to peer out the keyhole while Byleth skated her eyes over Edelgard unashamedly.

“Those fit you well.”

“I...thank you, my teacher,” Edelgard squeaked out. She shuffled her feet, avoiding the conversation as she focused on the road ahead. She moved across the room to Ferdinand, awaiting their next move.

He stepped away from the keyhole, turning back to the two of them. “It’s clear. The Professor will take you to my family’s house where Bernadetta is waiting. Please, Edelgard, under no circumstances should you leave. For your safety, as well as our Professor’s. She’ll need your knowledge to recover from her wounds.”

_Way to hit me where it hurts,_ Edelgard thought guiltily. “Of course. Thank you...both of you.” She turned to Byleth. “Thank you for putting your lives on the line for me. I don’t deserve it.”

Before either of them could respond, the jeers of raucous drinking carried on the wind. A group of guardsmen who’d had a bit too much fun, Edelgard supposed, and Ferdinand jumped into action.

“I’ll send them on their way. Get going.” They both nodded in response, and he slipped out the door without a sound. Once they heard his noble scolding, Byleth went first, once again surprising Edelgard at the sudden increase in dexterity despite Ferdinand’s mention of her wounds. Edelgard followed obediently, trying to keep her boots muffled on the stone and following the flowing coattail of the woman in front of her.

Edelgard knew Byleth had never spent much time in Enbarr, so she must have just been that skilled in memorizing maps and plotting paths through uncharted territory. She weaved through a number of alleyways with the skill of a veteran thief on her home turf, using the momentum of her movements to silently tuck the both of them behind crates as the city guard patrols passed by, marking their exit of the Palace grounds where the Church was stationed. At one point, they were forced to pass through a crowded street packed with taverns on either side with people spilling out onto the road. Here, Byleth ducked her head and motioned for Edelgard to do the same as they weaved in and out of the sea of people, seamlessly making their way across the street and into the Ruby District. The pair were silent as they moved, which gave Edelgard time to start a list of all the questions she wanted to ask once they made it to Ferdinand’s.

Finally, Byleth began to slow, taking her time to check the numbers that marked the different homes on the brick-laden street. Now that they were taking their time, Edelgard noticed her limp had reappeared, small and unnoticeable to most, but not to her. At the end of the street they were on, Byleth stopped, her breath heavy and uneven as she pointed at a door with a fireplace flickering through the window. She removed the key from her waistband as she approached the door, her steps growing more and more uneven as it became clear how unsteady she was, and Edelgard rushed to her side, barely catching her as she went limp against her frame.

Edelgard was strong, much stronger than most would guess when they looked at her. But she was still human, and she could barely hold the larger woman up as she took the key out of her grasp and stuck it in the door, trying to hurry inside and avoid any onlookers that might wander onto the drive. Instead, the front door of the Aegir estate opened for her, revealing a familiar, purple haired archer that Edelgard hadn’t seen in too long.

And then, she did the worst possible thing she could have done. She screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright y'all, here it is!! Sorry this one's a bit late, I've had a crazy past couple weeks (I committed to a PhD program and I'll be moving across the country this summer, woohoo!!), but we're back on the Edeleth train, and the plot is thickening!


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